


Ground Zero

by TheIzzatron



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Child Soldiers, Gen, Haruno Sakura-centric, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, No Uchiha Massacre, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strong Haruno Sakura, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIzzatron/pseuds/TheIzzatron
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures. If this means forcing weapons into the hands of children, then so be it.
Comments: 192
Kudos: 537





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by:  
> \- Find Your Place (whatever it takes) by Dovey  
> \- your move, instigator (draw your weapon and hold your tongue) by Laysan_albatross  
> \- Control by Dragonist
> 
> Absolutely adore these fics.

The sky is bright yellow. Even through the soot-stained classroom window, Sakura Haruno sees it. If she squints, she can almost pretend to see rippling heat, sizzling cobblestone paths and withered grass. A forest fire here and there; summers in The Land of Fire are fierce. 

But then Mizuki-sensei taps on the chalkboard for attention and the illusion fades. The sky still glows, not from above, but an echo from the horizon. She remembers stories of shinobi that breathe fire, like the dragons in mama’s stories. 

There’s a battle, she deduces. There’s never been a battle so close to the Konoha gates before. 

Sakura tears her eyes away and finds her lap instead. Her hands are resting there, folded neatly. Her hands are pale. They are smooth, but Sakura can see a hint of callus on her palms. 

Mizuki-sensei says a shinobi’s best weapon is his own hands. On her first day in the Academy, he spun weapons of all sorts between his fingers and threw them towards the training post. He hits his target dead-centre every time. Sakura learns quickly that this is a lot harder than it looks. Even the training kunai and shuriken are heavier than she can comfortably manage. Sakura can only really handle hurling a few before her arm feels the strain.

She never comes close to hitting her target; in fact, it falls just a few feet in front of her.

A few of the other academy students snicker at her expense. Mizuki-sensei doesn’t step in. He thinks of it as character building. Sakura’s only consolation is that while they fumble a little less, the other students don’t tend to fare much better with hitting their targets either.

Sakura wishes the academy is as fun as Ino-chan promised. Ino-chan said they would get to arrange flowers and learn history and mathematics and ciphers and code. There’s none of that. Sakura has been here nearly a month now and all she’s learned is— well. Sakura now knows how to swipe at ankles so people can’t run anymore. She knows how to slash across eyes so no one can fix them anymore. She doesn’t want to imagine why it’s been ingrained into them all that this is very important.

It’s eleven o’clock, and it’s another chakra lesson. Sakura likes to think of chakra as the warm feeling of her mind in her belly, but that just sounds silly to say out loud. So she keeps her hands in her lap when Mizuki-sensei calls upon students to raise their hands to answer questions. Mizuki-sensei tries his best to explain, but beyond the older clan children dotted about in the class, Sakura has a suspicion that no one else really knows what he’s asking for. There’s a body diagram, a taijitu symbol, a lot of talk about coils. A pool of energy deep within. An energy to channel into your hands, your feet, anywhere. Physical energy and spiritual energy… Mizuki-sensei says ‘energy’ so often that Sakura notices a few rows below that Fuki is keeping a tally. Beside him, Ami starts to chortle.

Sakura keeps her head down and hopes they quiet. Mizuki-sensei likes to punish the whole class for one person’s misdemeanour. 

“Is there something you want to share with the class, Ami?” Mizuki-sensei intones.

Ami’s ears turn pink and her words are so quiet Sakura can’t hear. Sensei hears her fine however, and says, “If you have nothing useful to contribute, I suggest you stop dragging the class down and be quiet. This is no time or place for such antics. I suggest you think about this when you run five laps around the field during lunch break. The class will join you, of course. For your insolence.”

The class groans. 

Someone throws a book at Ami and it clips the back of her head. Ami yelps. There are tears in her eyes.

Mizuki-sensei praises their aim. And then he scolds Ami even more for poor reflexes.

Then, he carries on the lecture like nothing happened. 

Sakura looks at the window again. The sky isn’t so yellow anymore, gobbled up by billowing smoke. She wonders who won that fight. She wonders— naively— if everyone is okay.

\--

Just as Sakura opens her front door to exit, she’s greeted by a streak of yellow and orange inviting themselves in. It is all Sakura can do to step back and greet her, a little dazed.

Ino bears gifts, a bento box and a new red ribbon. She bestows them onto Sakura with the start of a flourish but stops when she notices Sakura is distracted.

“Sakura-chan?”

Sakura hangs her head low. “I know I meant to come by yesterday. I’m sorry I didn’t. Mama and papa finally came home for a little while. I know they were home earlier than they said but— I missed them.”

Ino falters, but offers a warm smile. “Don’t stress about it so much, Sakura-chan. That’s great news that you got to see them. Do you know when they’re due home next?”

Instead of answering the question, Sakura’s eyes flicker to the nearby clock. Ino’s eyes follow. Sakura feels herself sink a bit. “I need to head off now, Ino-chan, or I’ll be late.”

“I’ll walk you!” Ino volunteers easily.

Sakura brightens. “Really?”

She straightens the bag over her shoulders and off they go. Sakura suspects that Ino senses her quiet mood, because she’s chattier than usual, supplying most of the conversation. Sakura doesn’t mind; she does her best to listen. She likes hearing what Ino gets up to. Being at the Academy six days a week from eight in the morning to dusk these days means they don’t see each other nearly as often as they used to.

Ino says all these new changes with the Academy that Sakura tells her about sound so bizarre to her. Ino says her mama is insistent that these changes surely won’t stay in place for very long; Ino-chan will get to go to kunoichi classes and learn code and create secret messages in flowers like she really wants. Ino is hopeful that since Sakura hasn’t started these classes yet, maybe they would get to do it together!

Sakura is less optimistic; Mizuki-sensei recently taught them the best places in the body to aim for to neutralise— or kill. 

Ino says she’s started helping her own mama in the Yamanaka greenhouse. She’s planted daisies. Ino says they’re really easy to grow, but she’s very proud and she can’t wait until her first flowers bloom. Sakura is happy for her. Ino starts mentioning new names too. A Shikamaru-kun and a Choji-kun. Sakura is not surprised to hear that Ino has made more friends so quickly— a large number of them had gone on to start at the Academy after all.

Mr Ino’s Dad isn’t due home from his mission for another two weeks at the least. Ino doesn’t seem too worried for him. She says her dad is the strongest and bravest man she knows and Sakura believes her. Sakura only wishes she has that same level of confidence for her parents. Mama and papa like to remind her that they’re only just genin and that means they’re safe from the worst most of the time— but knowing that’s not _all_ of the time, makes Sakura worry. 

Yesterday they were really only home for a few hours. It’s the longest they’ve been home in a while. She is so happy she was home when they came or she might have missed them.

Coming home to an empty house most days just feels a little bit lonely.

Their visit yesterday didn’t bring smiles throughout though. Between the kisses on her cheeks, ruffling her hair to mess up her ribbon, warm dinner and even warmer hugs, they ask how she’s been, they say how much she’s grown (even if it is only a little), but how thin she’s getting, and where is Suzume-san, because wasn’t she supposed to be looking after Sakura until they got back?

But Sakura said she’s not seen Suzume-san since the first and only time she came, just as her mum and dad left for their last mission.

“But— it’s been nearly two months! Who’s been looking after you, if not Suzume-san?” mama floundered. Her voice was too high, her cheeks starting to flush with anger. Sakura thinks she might have said something wrong to upset her mama so. 

“Suzume-san says it’s all sorted,” Sakura said. “I get a food box every week from Hokage-sama. Suzume-san said he’ll take care of me. Hokage-sama invited me to start at the Academy. Suzume-san said I better go or it’ll be rude so I went and I’ve been going.” She scrambles a bit, her words rushing quicker the more she sees her mama’s shoulder shake. “I— I have a letter. Suzume-san says it’s an official letter, so I just waited until you and papa came home so you can read.”

Mama and papa never let her near official documents. It makes sense. Sakura’s too young for grown up stuff like official stuff. The letter is addressed in her own name but she passed it to her mama. There are too many things Sakura doesn’t understand right now, and maybe mama can help.

Mama tore the letter open with such ferocity it almost ripped completely in the middle. The wax seal clattered soundlessly onto the floor and there’s a smaller card that flitted in the air, falling even slower. It’s Sakura’s identification photo. Mama’s hands shook too much so she flattened the letter against the table, pushing both halves into a pretence of a whole. Her own dinner was long forgotten. Mama’s eyes flitted quickly as she read. And then she read again. And then read again. And then she shouted for papa to come quick and then he read the letter too. And then he read again. And then they both read.

Sakura wondered what it was that was so beyond their understanding. She found herself craning her neck to try and see, but can only make out a few words:

_Duty. War-time policy. Accelerated program. Conscription._

And then mama had tears in her eyes. Mama bent down and hugged her too tightly for too long and then kissed her forehead and said not to worry. And Sakura didn’t understand. She still doesn’t understand. 

Mama said she would be right back, but she doesn’t come home that night. 

Papa tucked Sakura in bed, but he’s gone too when morning came. 

Sakura misses her parents already.

“Sakura-chan, are you in there?” Ino asks, blue eyes boring into her own. She’s standing so close Sakura notices that Ino’s eyes have no pupil.

“I’m sorry, Ino-chan. What were you saying?”

Ino frowns and attempts for them to stop. Sakura keeps walking, because she can’t be late. Ino chases after her not long after. “Sakura, are you okay?”

Sakura sees the academy roof in the distance and says aloud, if only to distract them both: “It really is no fun in the Academy without you.”

“Mum says maybe I can join next year!” Ino says with a bright grin and then continues with a scowl, “But only if Choji-kun and Shika-kun are ready too. Mum says it’s clan politics. All our families go way back, so I have to be patient. But I don’t want to be patient! If Shika and Choji aren’t ready then I’ll just make them be ready!”

Ino flicks her short hair and pumps a fist in the air. Ino is so cool. Sakura smiles.

The blonde turns to Sakura then, “I’ll catch up to you, Sakura-chan! A year’s not so long! Maybe we can even graduate together! Don’t you worry.”

Sakura remembers her mama saying the same last words and suddenly, in spite of herself, she has doubts.

Ino asks, “So what are they teaching you? I need a heads up with these changes.”

This Sakura finds a bit strange; Ino is always there to help Sakura with anything she doesn’t understand when it comes to becoming a shinobi-in-training and that certainly hasn’t changed. Sakura doesn’t know what the academy could be teaching her that Ino wouldn’t already have an idea about.

Sakura tries anyway, “There’s a lot of learning how to use scrolls. Like storage scrolls. There’s taijutsu forms. Some shurikenjutsu, but I’m not very good at that.” Actually, beyond traps and reading maps, there isn’t a lot that Sakura is very good at. It’s very disheartening. 

She deflates even more when she admits her worst failing: “Mizuki-sensei has been trying to teach us about chakra. Not a lot of us— not even the big kids— seem to know what’s happening. I’m a bit lost. Mizuki-sensei says to meditate and connect physical and spiritual energies but… Um. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what I’m trying to feel.”

Ino hums thoughtfully. “It might just be a little harder for you to access because you’re not a clan-born shinobi, Sakura-chan.”

“Well—“ Sakura starts, and she doesn’t understand why she’s getting a bit upset. “That’s just silly.”

Ino shakes her head. “Mum says it’s like this: some ninja clans have hidden techniques or blood limits. And we need to practice doing these techniques lots and lots and the more we do— well, it becomes like second nature. And because we’re clan shinobi, all this practice has been happening for generations. So it’s more than second nature. It just feels more natural to connect with our own chakra.”

Sakura nods, encouraging her to continue. 

“So in that way— we’re just… better with chakra,” she finishes lamely. Ino grimaces as soon as she hears herself.

Sakura frowns. “You— you think you’re better than me?”

“N-No of course not!” Ino says immediately, holding her hands up in a placating way, eyes wide. 

“But you _are_ better than me,” Sakura says, mostly to herself now.

“Sakura-chan, that’s not what I’m saying at all!” Ino says desperately. She looks very sorry. “Clan techniques take lots of practice with chakra and lots of study and it’s not always something we’re just born with! And— I’m just saying we got more practice in. That’s all it is! Practice! And the more you practice, the more you’re used to it!”

Sakura feels defeated. “But how will I know what to practice if I don’t have a clan to help me?”

Ino’s starts to ramble nonsensically until she latches on to a train of thought. “Well— you don’t need a clan to coddle you and hold your hand! You’re amazing! And if you end up making a name for yourself, by yourself, then won’t that mean so much more? You’ll basically be a genius like Minato Namikaze!” but Sakura doesn’t know who that is yet, so the meaning of the words are lost on her. 

Ino sobers up and says earnestly, “I can’t help you with jutsu, Sakura-chan. But I think I can help you access your chakra.”

Sakura says pathetically, “But what if I don’t even have chakra?”

“Don’t be silly,” Ino says, scoffing. “All living things have chakra. You just need to tap into it.”

Sakura is going to be late for being early to the Academy— which means if she stays a little bit longer with Ino, she’ll be just on time. Ino’s newfound confidence in her means the world and more. Sakura decides to stay a little longer while Ino brainstorms. It doesn’t take long:

It must be one brilliant idea, because she’s shed any trace of that awkward conversation and she’s grinning openly. She runs ahead to stand under the tree by the Academy Entrance. There’s a swing hanging on a branch; Sakura has never seen anyone sit on it.

“Ino-chan, what are you looking at?” She joins Ino, squatting on the ground to inspect a weed tilted towards the edge of the tree’s shadow into sunlight.

“It’s like this,” Ino whispers conspiratorially. “You are the weed. Your roots are the physical energy that grounds you. You can nurture your roots with better soil, with water, with anything that makes your body stronger.”

The clouds shift overhead and the sun just touches the weed. Sakura starts to understand. Ino continues anyway:

“The sun is your spiritual energy. You can work on that by meditating or studying— anything that gives you that lightbulb moment so you can work around what grounds you so it works for you anyway. Like how the weed is stuck in these roots but it bends just enough to reach the sunlight. 

A plant can’t survive on sun alone or water alone. They need both to work together. The plant knows this. It’s that feeling when you connect your body and your mind.”

Sakura thinks she understands now. 

\--  
It’ll be a long while before she sees Ino again, but she doesn’t know this yet. 

Another week— two days, thirteen hours and fifteen seconds— passes when Mizuki-sensei says they’ve graduated from chakra theory without any tests, and it’s time to apply what they’ve learned. He puts a single leaf onto every student’s desk, reminding them one more time about focus and chakra and energies some more. And then he places his own little leaf onto his forehead protector and moves his hand away with a motion that says, now you. The leaf sticks to him like it’s glued.

It’s a lacklustre display with no flourish, but the younger students are entertained. Sakura too finds herself laughing softly, delighted at the trick. She and the other students pick up their own leaves to try it out for themselves. Sakura thinks of her mind in her belly, and a warm sort of energy and wills it to her forehead and thinks for it to _please, please stick_.

Only Sakura’s would stick on the first try.

\-- 

Two days later and Sakura finds herself assigned to a new classroom with new classmates. Though really, to call it a classroom would be generous: gone are the desks and chairs and the wooden training weapons box. This room is styled much like a dojo, far too large for the twelve of them in the room, Sakura included.

One of the students cheers for their now-even numbers. Others give her the quickest look and look away with a shake of their head. Half of them look as old as their early teens. Some of them, just younger. In fact, there are two others who look to share the same age as herself.

There is a boy with red paint on his cheeks. He’s shaggy haired and wild eyed. 

There is another— boy, she thinks— with long hair secured in a low knot. His eyes are strange and pearlescent. Important-looking. Sakura thinks he would slash his eyes himself if he had to.

She stands by them both so she doesn’t feel as small.

The door opens and shuts and there’s no footfall. Sakura knows this means nothing in the world of shinobi. The class quickly stands with their arms to their side, body rigid, eyes forward. Sakura gasps and tries to follow suit. She doesn’t do very well. Her eyes find their new sensei and it’s Suzume-san, who raises her eyebrows at her.

“Introduction,” Suzume-san – sensei says, detached. She sounds nothing like the reassuring friendly woman mama trusted to babysit.

“M-me?” Sakura squeaks. Suzume-sensei raises her eyebrow, impossibly, even higher. Sakura’s cheeks colour. “My name is Sakura Haruno. I like playing with Ino-chan—“

Suzume-sensei clears her throat, but she looks uncomfortable suddenly. “I can only afford enough time between each of you to work on only one of your faults and hone just one of your strengths. What would you like to work on, Haruno.”

 _Haruno_. Suzume-san called her Sakura-chan before. Sakura wonders what has changed so suddenly, because surely being a sensei doesn’t mean you have to be mean! Tears prickle at the back of Sakura’s eyes but she tries very hard not to let them fall. She says instead, “I’m bad at shurikenjutsu. I want to work on chakra control.”

Suzume-san clears her throat again, and looks away quickly. When she starts her next speech, the wild-eyed boy with red paint sighs quietly beside her. Sakura thinks he may have heard this a few times already:

“By the end of this month, the goal is to ensure you’ve made some improvement on your selected fields. The final exam involves performing a passable Substitution Technique. I will expect you to do any other remedial studies you’ve taken upon yourself to do in your own time. Not here. I will teach you what we have agreed upon. I will teach you professional conduct. Any misconduct will be dealt with swiftly. This is your only warning.

“Now let’s make shinobi out of you.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m Sakura Haruno. I’m pleased to meet—“

“Save it,” her classmate says, walking away from her with a dismissive wave of his hand. Sakura lowers her own slowly. She feels her heart sink.

“Don’t mind Uchiha-san,” the brown-haired boy with pearly eyes says. “He’s due to graduate tomorrow. You’ll not meet him again for a long while yet.”

Sakura pushes a lock behind her ear. “I didn’t realise.” She still doesn’t think it’s very nice. “My name is—“

“Sakura Haruno,” the boy says with a nod. “Neji.”

“Neji—…?”

He gives her a bewildered look. “Hyuga.”

“I—,” Sakura starts, and then falters. 

Uchiha. Hyuga. She recognises these names. Mizuki-sensei said once that their eyes are very powerful. “Protect their eyes,” he said. “And if you can’t, slash them.”

Kasumi would raise her hand then. “Sensei, what if they’re still alive?”

Mizuki-sensei slammed his book shut in one hand. “Pay attention. If you cannot protect them, slash them.”

Like Ino-chan’s, Neji’s don’t have pupils either. But unlike Ino-chan’s, Sakura can’t tell where Neji’s iris ends and the whites of his eyes begin. It gives her the impression that he can see just about everything in this room— like nothing escapes his notice. She catalogues this: Hyuga clan eyes are eerie. 

She says aloud, “I’ll do my best to protect you. My old sensei says your clan is important.”

Neji smiles but it is a bitter thing. “I am not.”

\--

Sakura spends her lunch break with Suzume-sensei. The empty class looks even emptier without the few students about. From the tiny window near the ceiling, the sun shines a bright square of light into the room. She sees dust dancing in it. Sakura wishes she were even slightly closer to it; maybe it would be warmer. Really the room isn’t cold at all, but Sakura learns quickly that Suzume-sensei is. 

She worries her tummy will rumble. She’s awfully hungry. 

Suzume-sensei won’t let her break, though. She says from what she’s seen of Sakura’s performance so far, she doesn’t deserve a break. Sakura understands. Suzume-sensei spent the first part of the day running the class through nearly any possible thing Sakura could be bad at. It isn’t entirely her own fault, Sakura thinks. Suzume-sensei’s class is at least twice as intense as Mizuki-sensei’s— and she could hardly keep up even then.

“Stand up straight, Haruno.”

“Yes, sensei.”

Sakura turns her head back to Suzume-sensei with the keenest expression a person can muster while being scolded. Sensei is reading off her clipboard. “…— stamina is abysmal. Not to mention your weapons throwing skills are practically non-existent. You have your work cut out for you. As it is, I could probably pit you against a civilian. And you’d lose.”

“I’m sorry, sensei,” Sakura says dutifully, even though she feels like rubbish. She faintly hears the other Academy students laughing outside from the window. She knows it’s irrational but she thinks they might be laughing at her.

“It cannot be helped. You’ve only been here for—“ she flips her clipboard. “— two months, exactly. With no clan backing and your parents’—“ she clears her throat. “It puts you at a disadvantage. It is even more unfortunate for you, that there is only so much I can help you with. Especially in one month. Especially at your age. Honestly, you lot get younger every time.” Sensei says this last bit to herself softly. She clears her throat again, as if to cover up that she’s said it at all. Sakura frowns anyway, sinking into thought.

It feels too long ago; it can’t have been more than a few months before. She remembers scuffed knees and palms from when Ami tripped her. She remembers laughing and skipping anyway, racing home to her mama to tell her, “I’ve made a friend, mama! I’ve made a friend!”

And there was a red ribbon in her hair. Mama was so proud.

“Her name is Ino Yamanaka. Mama she’s so brave and strong. She said she’ll be a shinobi one day. Mama, I want to be a shinobi too!” she said, and then her mama looked too tired suddenly. “Mama?”

A part of Sakura thinks she might want to take back what she said that day, but knows it makes no difference. Hokage-sama enrolled her into the Academy. Not mama or papa. They don’t want her here, she knows that much— at least, not here so early.

Ino-chan says that kids don’t start at the Academy until they’re at least seven. And then they’d stay in the Academy for at least five years. “There’s so much to study, Sakura-chan! I’m so excited!”

—But Sakura has just one month, and she surely can’t learn it all by then. Why is it that she can only have one month?

“Oh Sakura, there’s a war out there,” Mama said back then. And now, Sakura is scared.

“What do I do?” Sakura asks her sensei finally. Her eyes sting. She rubs at them viciously.

“Endure,” Suzume-sensei says. It is not very reassuring. “They can help you, but there are certain things that we need to do first.”

“Sensei?” _They?_

Suzume-sensei continues as though Sakura never spoke. “I’ll be asking you a series of questions. Please answer to the best of your ability. We don’t have much time until lunch break is over. I’d like to finish this before your classmates arrive.”

Sakura’s tummy rumbles loudly at this point. Her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry.”

Sensei raises an eyebrow. “Let’s be quick, then. No questions.”

Suzume-sensei flips a page on her clipboard. The questions Sakura is asked then, she thinks, could easily have come straight from a very strange doctor’s office:

“Besides your parents, do you have any living relatives, distant or otherwise?”  
“Is there anyone else currently listed as your emergency contact?”  
“Have you ever broken your dominant hand? When and how?”  
“How well can you read? Read these aloud as best as you can. No questions.”  
“Are your dental records up to date?”

Mama and papa would be much better at answering these for her. Sakura tries her best anyway. She flounders at some of them— she doesn’t know what her dominant foot is. And she certainly doesn’t know if she’s listed as a donor— and sensei tuts and hums and sighs through it all. The noises don’t fill Sakura with any sort of positive feeling. Sakura has a lot of questions, but they’re answered again and again with “no questions” and really, it’s more frustrating than no answer at all.

She is measured and weighed. Suzume-sensei makes a comment about how she’s a bit too light for her age. Sakura smiles tightly, and fights every urge to say that maybe she _would_ be a little heavier, if she could dig into her lunch. Sensei snaps at her anyway, like she can read her mind. 

Sakura is picked apart like she’s not made of much. 

Her posture is terrible. Sensei reminds her that her stamina is non-existent. The soles of her shoes are too thin to be durable. Sakura needs to start having weapons on her person— it’s careless otherwise. Her pockets are too few and too shallow. Her vest is non-functional. What is this ripped design on her sleeves? They’ll get caught on something. And sensei absolutely despises her bright yellow-green trousers. They’re loud. They’re flimsy. They’ll rip easy. They’re impractical. At each comment, Sakura bows her head lower and lower.

“Stand up straight.”

Sakura whips to attention again.

“Can you confirm that you are healthy in mind and body?”

“I feel okay,” Sakura says, but this is a lie. Sakura feels like the worst shinobi-in-training ever. Her only reprieve is that sensei says this is the last bit of the form to go through. It isn’t all that long, but it is long enough. Suzume-sensei holds out the clipboard and says to _sign here_ , with a sharp tap of her pen.

This is the first time Sakura will have seen the clipboard for herself. Sakura’s eyes dart between the conflicted look on sensei’s face, to the pen, and then to the blank line being indicated. It sits just a few lines under one _Sarutobi Hiruzen_ as an ‘Approving Body’. Sakura wonders at what it is that’s being approved, that the Hokage is involved. This must be an official document. Unable to stop her burning curiosity, her gaze wanders about the page, flickering first to the top, where Sakura knows titles usually are. But this is the last of several pages, and any introduction she may have had onto the form isn’t there. 

The pace her eyes move as they travel back down to the blank line is deliberate; she reads as much as she dares before sensei gives the clipboard an impatient shake. Sakura finds herself lost again, like with the letter mama and papa read, from the Hokage. Phrases and words become just that: words.

_Confirmed Enlistment—. Voluntary Relinquishment—. Custodian—. Assignment Pending Final Review—. Designation—._

And then that word again:

_Conscription._

Sakura reels back slightly, her eyes meeting sensei’s searchingly. Sakura remembers belatedly, mama and papa wouldn’t be letting her read this, much less sign it. 

Suzume-sensei raises an eyebrow.

Sakura is suddenly very aware that her parents are not here. The pen is in Sakura’s hand, not theirs. She thinks this must mean something. It’s a thought, a bad one, on the tip of her tongue. Just there, but not quite. Mama and papa never look happy when they sign anything. 

“There is no need to look over everything I’ve just read out to you,” sensei says carefully.

There is an admonishment there. Sakura’s shoes suddenly become very interesting to look at. She swallows a hard lump in her throat and forces out a quiet, “… but you didn’t read out everything.” The clipboard is snatched away. Sakura regrets saying this immediately.

There is a beat of silence. 

Suzume-sensei squats down in front of her. Sakura can feel her eyes boring holes into her lowered head. Sensei says, “I am sorry I spared you all the boring details. I minced the words so perhaps you would understand better.”

“I still don’t understand,” Sakura admits.

“Stand up straight.” Sakura hears a growing frustration in sensei’s voice. 

Sakura straightens again, but her eyes are cast anywhere else. Sakura adds in an even quieter voice, “Shouldn’t mama or papa be signing that?” 

“Don’t you think your parents have done enough for you?”

Sakura meets sensei’s gaze instantly, anxious. Sakura feels like there might be a double meaning in her words. Like whatever it is mama and papa have done, Sakura should feel ashamed. But what have they done? Mama and papa are kind and loyal and they love her a lot. Suzume-sensei says it like— Sakura’s caused some trouble.

“Are my mama and papa okay?” Sakura asks.

“You are smart, Haruno. Tell me the first rule of the Shinobi Code of Conduct.”

“Are they—“

“ _Haruno_.”

“’Shinobi must always show allegiance to their kage’,” she recites hastily. Her eyes dart to the door. “Mama and papa—“

“They are not here. I am.”

“But—“

“They’re alive,” Suzume-sensei says. “A word of advice, Haruno. If you can help it, keep your eyes on your opponent.” 

Any train of thought Sakura might have had at this point is quickly forgotten. Suzume-sensei says her mama and papa are alive. A doubtful part of her wonders, how would sensei know? But sensei is an adult and she’s meant to be here to help, and Sakura should let her, even if she isn’t very nice. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Eyes on me, Haruno.” Sensei definitely sounds angry now.

Sakura meets Suzume-sensei’s eyes with another hard gulp. If an apology can’t help, maybe placating her will. Sakura’s voice sounds more hysterical than she likes. “You’re not my opponent, you’re my sensei.”

“Then tell me, why are you opposing?” 

Sakura’s attempt at a smile dies instantly, and another apology starts to form in its place. Sakura really has been saying sorry a lot today, but sensei is proving her to be insolent. She doesn’t mean to be. Sakura starts to hunch in on herself, tears forming in her eyes. Try as Ino-chan might to instil some confidence in her, sometimes it’s hard to find and even harder to muster, especially when she is shot down as hard as this.

Suzume-sensei straightens from her crouched position into her full height. It only makes Sakura feel even smaller. Suzume-sensei says very deliberately, “The first rule of the code of conduct exists to remind you: all that we shinobi do is for a greater cause. Lord Hokage knows what is best to protect the Will of Fire. This, Haruno, is our lives, our future. That is what your parents are fighting for. What we all should be fighting for. Your parents are honourable as they put their lives on the line for you, for our village, for all our sakes. You need to understand your place in all this, to step up and learn to defend.

“Lord Hokage has graciously seen to it that you have every opportunity to do so. He has arranged for food and provisions to be brought to your door every week, to keep you healthy and strong. He has invited you into the Academy walls, with teachers ready to keep you out of danger, ready to teach you to protect us all from danger— just as your parents do. I cannot stress enough how great an opportunity this is: to fight today, for our tomorrow. For those who can’t fight. For the village. For the generations to come. For the Will of Fire.

“You may be the difference between victory and defeat, and there is so much at stake. It is out of the question that you should think to wait another minute, to even hesitate to sign. We can all do our part. Lord Hokage believes you can make a difference. He believes in you.”

The speech is meant to be inspiring and overwhelming. But it is a few hours into Suzume-sensei’s class, and Sakura now knows sensei loves a speech. Sakura is starting to understand why Kiba would sigh each time; Suzume-sensei’s delivery sounds— practiced. It is as if she’s read it off a page, memorised it and said it out loud five or six times. Honour. The Code of Conduct. They become just like what little of the form she’s read: pretty words- but without meaning to Sakura.

But just like the form- and the letter her parents read, some words stick to Sakura anyway. A larger part of her even- and it's enough. The words burrow a home in her chest and she clutches at it painfully.

Mama and papa tell her that being genin means that they’re mostly safe. But there is a war outside, staining the skies yellow and red when it’s not sunset. How safe is safe? Sakura has seen bandages and casts settle on mama and papa’s persons where they never used to. They don’t like to talk very much about being shinobi— at least not at home, not to Sakura. They shush her and pat her head and tell her to please brew some tea, as if that would be enough distraction. Sometimes, they try harder, and bring dango home from the vendor down the street. And sometimes this works and quiets her questions, but when this doesn’t… Mama and papa tell her that being a shinobi is busy work. It’s dirty work. It’s hands-on work. It’s dangerous work. And sometimes, when papa kicks off his muddied sandals at the door and washes his hands for too long, when mama hangs her head low and covers her face and says she isn’t hungry— Sakura gathers it’s difficult work too. 

Mama hugged her fiercely, when Sakura said she wanted to be a shinobi. 

Deep down, Sakura knows this isn’t the life they want for her.

“Not everyone is as nice as Ino, Sakura-chan,” mama said once. “Please, be careful.”

“They play favourites, Sakura-chan,” papa told her another time. “Not everyone is important.”

Suzume-sensei said her parents are putting their lives on the line. To make a difference.

Sakura misses them so much. Her parents don’t stay home for longer than hours at a time anymore— if they come home at all. And she worries, but worrying at home by herself won’t help anyone. Won’t change anything. But Sakura might be able to help make a difference. And maybe, she will. Maybe, she will be that difference between defeat and victory. Maybe, she will be that one life that saves hundreds. Maybe— maybe, she’ll get to see her mama and papa too.

And if she doesn’t… The house really is getting too lonely with just her living in it.

Sakura can be that one more shinobi. For mama and papa. It will be worth it.

Sakura lifts the pen onto the line on the form. She looks up at Suzume-sensei. “I don’t have a signature yet. Is just my name okay?”

Suzume-sensei’s jaw tenses a little. She clears her throat and looks away. Her voice is almost too smooth when she speaks again. “That is fine.”

She barely hears Suzume-sensei mutter, _too young_. Sakura is already scribbling her name away.

\--

Almost everyone in class is mean. Really, this is nothing new. In her first few days in Mizuki-sensei’s class, Fuki thought it was so funny to trip her up and down the steps whenever she got out of her seat. The third time she fell for it though, Mizuki-sensei called her out in the middle of class. Sakura remembers everyone giggling at her expense. It is the only time so far that Sakura is ever called out like this. She thinks about it a lot.

“You’re here to train to be a shinobi,” Mizuki-sensei said. “You better start acting like it.”

Sakura would learn to pay better attention. And she waited and she waited, and the next time Fuki tried it, she stomped. Fuki made a whimpering noise and cradled his foot on the floor, and Sakura almost said sorry but instead sensei told her she did a good job. Fuki never tried this again. He graduated instead to throwing paper balls and spit balls and erasers and sharp pencils at Sakura. But these are easy to see coming; dodging would get easier every day.

But words aren’t so easy to dodge. In Mizuki-sensei's class, it is Ami’s weapon of choice. And it would be okay, because it's character building.

Ami would say things, like Sakura is a knobbly-kneed loser with no backbone and a target for a forehead. And sometimes, even to this day, Sakura believes her.

“Sticks and stones,” Ino said, the last time Sakura told her about it. “She can’t hurt you, Sakura. Words can’t hurt people.” 

But they _can_ , and they _have_ and they _are_ — or Sakura wouldn’t have been so upset. Or maybe Sakura is just being silly.

Lately, she finds herself missing Ami anyway. Sakura’s new class don’t need to use words and cheap tricks to hurt her; they speak volumes in other ways. Most of them would talk over her, look over her, pick her last for group activities and assignments, and turn their backs to her. They like to act like she isn’t even there. And when they can’t do that— when sensei makes them take turns to spar her, they make it a point to try and knock her down in an instant. Over and over. Suzume-sensei would rub at her temples and tell them it’s great they want to end the fight so quickly, but _come on_ , Haruno, you need to put up a bit of a fight too! 

Sakura finds a friend in Neji. He is talented and honest, even if he doesn’t always say nice things; it is preferable to silence after all. She would sit by him at lunch. He would pick the pickled vegetables and tonkatsu off his bento box onto the lid, and slide it over to Sakura like it never happened. Sakura is grateful; the tinned food from the Hokage’s food box all tastes the same, and doesn’t look very pretty no matter how hard she tries to arrange it. 

Neji would talk in tongues a lot though, lots of pretty words about destiny and birds and honour.

She listens dutifully, even if she doesn’t necessarily relate to it all. Even if Neji does knock her down in each spar like it takes him the least amount of effort. Her back is learning to smart a little less with each fall. Sakura likes to pretend she’s growing thick skin. 

When she’s knocked on her back again, Sakura holds out her hand for Neji to pull her up. He never does. He would always look up to the ceiling, as if the sky is painted there. Sakura wonders if he imagines it to be blue. The sky hasn’t been blue for so long.

Neji says, “Your fate has led you here once again. It is a shame.”

“I’m not ashamed of losing,” Sakura says, picking herself back up on her feet. She dusts her trousers with a frown. Sensei is right; they are fraying and ripping in all sorts of places. She must look ridiculous.

“To lose is to die,” Neji says.

“Not here,” Sakura argues. “Not for another month.”

“Still, our fates are sealed,” Neji says, sinking into an offensive stance. Sakura draws her right foot behind her and holds up her arms defensively. They spar.

Sakura is conflicted; she believes in defending those who can’t fight for themselves, but she also knows that being shinobi means hurting, and getting hurt. She is less certain is she wants to be a part of the latter—even if she does know deep down that this is not something she can choose. Every time she is beaten down, she wonders how many times this might’ve happened to her own parents, to Ino-chan’s dad, to all the mamas and papas out there. How brave they are, to get back up and fight again, so they can come home. And then Sakura thinks if this makes her brave too.

And then she thinks about the rest. The ones who don’t get back up. The ones who don’t come home.

She worries for her mama and papa. Her classmates talk about the dead and the injured like they’re numbers on a maths sheet. They don’t think to know names. Sakura doesn’t know if this is on purpose, and she doesn’t know if she would like to find out. All she can do is trust Suzume-sensei when she says— _every time_ — when Sakura asks – _every day_ — that her parents are both alive.

Her classmates like to make shallow bets on who they think would die first. When Uchiha-san left, they said, “That asshole will get three months, tops. The Uchihas are all dropping like flies anyway.” And it is horrible to hear, especially when they were all laughing together just the day before. But then, they would jeer at each other too. _I give you five months! –Shut up, that’s generous.— I’d have slated you for five weeks! –I’ll go down with a bang! Just watch me. I’ll be a hero!_

They think Sakura won't last last two weeks. 

It's not comforting to hear.

She is knocked on the ground again. Neji stares down at her. “At least pay the spar some attention.”

She looks up at him and asks, all too quietly, “If this is our fate, why do we bother?”

Neji’s eyes narrow, and his voice is just above a whisper. “Careful who you say that to. It’s sedition.” He says it with such seriousness, Sakura knows this must be bad. 

“But—“ Sakura stands, and flails her arms helplessly. If she can’t speak it either, then—

“The Hyuga are strong believers in the Will of Fire,” Neji says, but his words are bitter. “It is our duty to protect the future generations of our clan. Our duty to protect Konoha. Just as it is the class’s duty to graduate into genin. To protect Konoha, or die trying.”

“I don’t want to die,” Sakura whispers, shame-faced. “Is that wrong?”

Neji spots Suzume-sensei in the far corner of the room, correcting Aburame-san’s stance. She seems not to have noticed their exchange. Neji says quietly, “A true shinobi never dies from old age. When they die, they die fighting. Always for a cause much bigger than them. This much is written in stone. Why else would we have so many epitaphs erected across the village?”

“What if it hurts?” Sakura says.

“It would be over soon enough,” Neji says blandly. He falls into a stance again. “Attack.”

“I don’t want to believe this is the only way,” Sakura says, launching at him. It isn’t long before he holds his fist close to her throat, a phantom kunai telling her she lost again.

Neji withdraws, sighing long-sufferingly. “I wish you would learn to accept your fate.” 

“I wish—“ Sakura starts, and then shakes her head. They can’t talk about this forever. Not here. It’s _sedition_. She says instead, “I wish you would be nicer.”

“You don’t understand,” Neji says. 

“It seems I don’t understand a lot,” Sakura says. The stop talking for a while, engaging in another spar. For a moment, Sakura forgets that any of this bothers her at all.

She uses her legs— fast high and low kicks that Suzume-sensei says could really be faster. Neji is the opposite. He hardly budges his feet at all, except to inch forward when she loses ground. His arms always swoop in clean, quick arches. His sleeves billow as he moves, and it makes him look graceful. Prim, proper and every inch a member of the noble clan Mizuki-sensei told her about. His trimmed nails never chip. Sakura is almost jealous.

Sakura only does ever notice his nails though, because sometimes his hands do an odd thing and unfold from tight fists mid-fight— like he wants to clap at her instead of striking her. Sakura would think it silly at first, until she asks why.

“Remedial,” he would say, shifting his stance back to the Konoha-Standard Taijutsu Style. “Nothing I can practice here.”

And Ino-chan’s voice would ring in her head: “Clan techniques take lots of practice.” 

Neji never says, but Sakura knows that beyond Suzume-sensei’s classes, he would go home and train some more. With someone attentive, she thinks, someone who would prepare him for more than Sakura could ever dream of. Neji wouldn’t be so talented otherwise. A sour feeling settles in her stomach. 

“You are clever, you know,” Neji says to her, shaking her from her thoughts. He leaps easily away from a kick. “You’re in this class because you have potential.”

Maybe. All Sakura has done to merit being here is sticking a leaf to her forehead. She’s yet to win against any spar, or move on beyond last place in completing any of their drills. Sakura dodges Neji’s fist but stumbles when he swipes at her leg with another. She says, “It’s been five days. When will I get to learn about chakra?”

“Around the week mark,” Neji says. “Week one’s focus is stamina. In the weeks to come, you will see an interplay between chakra and shinobi techniques.”

“I’ll miss you when you go,” Sakura sighs. He is the first friend she has made in her whole time in the Academy. “Where do they think they’ll put you?”

Neji glances at sensei once more, and then he smiles at her again. She wishes Neji’s smiles are happier. He says, and his voice is almost too soft to hear, “One cage, to another. It makes no difference to me.”

“We aren’t caged,” Sakura says, frowning.

Neji looks up at the tiny window. It’s darker outside than three o’clock should be.

“Aren’t we?”

\--

“You sure you don’t need help, Sakura-chan?” her neighbour asks. 

“It’s okay, oba-san. I don’t want to be a bother. My front door is just fifteen steps away after all!” Sakura says with a tight smile. Her fingers grasp at the edges of the food box tightly. It is heavier than usual.

“It won’t bother me at all! Let me just grab my slippers—“

“No!” Sakura says, more aggressively than she means. She hears her neighbour gasp in shock. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just— I’m already half-way there. I’ll— I’ll see you next week. Thanks for holding onto this for me.”

She hobbles to her door as fast as she can. She reaches for her keys, but when she slots them in, she finds the door to be unlocked. Her heart starts to pound in excitement. Sakura rushes in, box forgotten at the doorstep. Her eyes are bright and her cheeks hurt from grinning. She’s not smiled in a while. “Mama! Papa! I’m—“

—But the hallway how is she left it. Dark. A growing pile of mail on the sideboard unit. There are no sandals left by the doorway. Two pairs of house slippers are still gathering dust. Sakura’s smile slips slowly. She wanders into the kitchen. The living room. The bedrooms.

She must’ve forgotten to lock the door.

“I’m home,” Sakura says to nobody. 

Her tummy rumbles loudly, and it is a welcome disruption from her unpleasant train of thought. Sakura drags the box into the kitchen and slices it open with mama’s letter opener. 

There’s tinned fruits and vegetables, and a few packs of instant noodles as always. Unable to wait any longer for dinner, she pulls the tab of tinned anything open. Sakura digs her spoon in. Green peas. It’s cold and yucky, and so soft she doesn’t even need to chew. She devours it hungrily. She wishes she could have another tin, but she needs to stretch these provisions until next week.

She peers into the box again to sort the items left in it. Lots of navy. Navy sandals. Three sets of navy trousers and shirts, with red spirals on either side of the long sleeves. Her finger traces the pattern idly, wondering what they could mean. There are bandages, a rattling bottle of supplements, a navy holster the size of her entire thigh. And then, wrapped carefully in netted cloth, she finds three kunai and five shuriken.

Sakura plucks one kunai from the heap. There are scuffs running along the metal, telling her it’s used. She wonders at who might have used it before her, and what might have happened to them— but not for too long. She reminds herself to be grateful. It’s not too hard; the weapon gleams under the yellow kitchen light, oiled and sharp. This will do very nicely.

Suzume-sensei was aghast to hear she didn’t have any weapons of her own. Sakura could only shrug then. All this while, she’s been borrowing Mizuki-sensei’s— and then later, from Neji, even if he wasn't so keen to share. Sakura will always be grateful to him and their friendship.

Neji graduated today. She hopes she’ll see him again soon. She hopes he won’t die.

She returns the kunai carefully, and notices a piece of paper wedged to the side of the box:

 _For your hard work. Keep it up!_ – Honourable Third Hokage

The note is printed, not handwritten. Standardised. Sakura accepts this with a shallow nod. Fighting a war is busy business. She understands enough that the Hokage can’t write personal letters to every single person. She can’t help but think though, if the Hokage would've used his name here, maybe the note wouldn’t feel as distant. Papa always signs his letters off by name. She hums and crumples up it up, launching it towards the bin. Sakura doesn’t pay any more attention to see if it lands.

She holds up the first shirt in the neat pile, and decides immediately that it will be far too big. Sakura frowns. Suzume-sensei’s act of measuring her a week ago really did no good. But Sakura knows she is going to be expected to wear this from now on.

The cloth is rough and heavy in her hands. They’re stiff as she puts them on. They crease awkwardly at her knees and elbows as she tries frog squatting in them. How do mama and papa ever wear these? Sakura hopes that all the clothes need is a hot wash or three for them to be a little more pliant. She sets two pairs in the washing machine, keeping the other one on. She will need to wear it for class tomorrow, after all, and it won’t dry in time otherwise. 

Her old clothes sit in tatters on the kitchen floor. Sakura sighs, padding upstairs to find mama’s big mirror. It’s an awkward ascent; the legs of the trousers drag under her feet. Her new sandals are slightly too big. The sleeves go past her fingertips and she has to shake one down her arm before she can turn the doorknob.

In the mirror, Sakura thinks she looks all wrong. 

Sakura looks like a child, trying to play shinobi.

She suddenly feels uncomfortable in her own skin. She sheds the layers all too quick. She runs the shower warm at first, but it doesn’t stop her thinking. Upset with herself, she turns the tap again so it’s cold, cold, _cold_. Sakura breathes through her teeth, her eyes shut tight.

She misses her mama and papa.

She misses Ino-chan.

She’s tired. 

She forgot to bring a towel. Sakura’s teeth chatter as she exits the shower. She drips puddles on the way to her bedroom. Sakura wishes she isn’t so messy, but the idea of tidying up makes her arms feel like lead. Tomorrow, she tells herself. She will clean tomorrow.

Her bedroom walls are pastel pink, like her hair. There are dolls on her windowsill, and they’re gathering dust too like the shoes at the front doorway. There are books stacked on her desk that she’s never gotten around to reading. Mama’s storybook sits on her bedside table, along with odd trinkets she’s collected with Ino-chan. Her sheets are green— like Suzume-sensei’s chuunin vest. 

She feels lead set in her legs now too.

Her bed doesn’t look so comfy anymore.

She dresses in flowery pyjamas, and they’re a little short. Sakura thinks she must be growing up. But they’re loose at the waistband too, and she doesn’t know what to think about that. 

She measures herself against the uniform. There are lengths of fabric between where it should fit. Sakura wishes she knows what she is doing, but it’s too late when she runs her new-used kunai well-above the cuff of the sleeves. She does the same again to the legs of the trousers. The kunai is sharp enough to move without much resistance. But when she shifts the clothes aside, she finds she’s made shallow marks on her parents' bedroom floor.

She wishes mama is here, even if she would shout at her for the mess she’s made. Mama’s got a hot temper, but she sews neatly. Mama could help her to re-hem it all— the sleeves, the seams, all of it. When Sakura puts the uniform on again to test her handiwork, she finds the material snagging here and there. Threads are peaking, and singular strings trail from where she’s shorn the fabric off. Maybe she should have turned it inside out? It's too late now. Sakura thinks maybe she’ll know better for the next two pairs she’ll have to cut. She wraps the roll of bandages around each ankle and each wrist, like Suzume-sensei does. She pretends it's armour. Really, Sakura does it to hide the awful mess she made of the hems.

She looks in the mirror again.

She looks –hand-made. Unfortunately so.

She looks ridiculous.

She looks like she is trying. 

Sakura thinks it is _enough_.

\--

The days pass in a cyclical paradox; too quickly, too slowly.

Learning is crammed in any instant that it can. By the end of her second week in Suzume-sensei’s class, callouses settle on her palms and knuckles. Her throwing skills grow only marginally better; sensei would eventually give up teaching Sakura how to fight long distance.

“Aim here, Haruno,” sensei would say. “A clean swipe here, or even here— and you would fell your opponent.”

“But— how do I get there?”

“You’re smaller than most shinobi out there,” sensei would say. “They will hardly register you as a threat. Use that against them.”

The lessons would start to stretch beyond dusk. It is strange, waking up to a near-empty street at just after dawn to find that vendors on the nearby street have yet to set up. And then stranger still, to stumble home – with sore heels, sore legs, sore eyes, sore— _everything_ — and find that on her way, the vendors would have packed up and closed for the day. 

Beyond the Academy, she doesn’t see much of anyone.

Once, Sakura would come home and find a little card pushed through the letter box. From the flowery script, Sakura would recognise it to be from Ino-chan. There is a pressed flower of some sort in between.

Ino would tell her she is okay. Her dad is home. Are Sakura’s parents home too? If not, she wishes Sakura all the best and all her love— but please, please let her know if Sakura needs anything. Just tack a note to the front door, if Sakura doesn’t have the time to find her. Or under the welcome mat if she's shy about her neighbours reading. She’ll check! She hopes Sakura is doing well and that her classmates are nice. Shikamaru is so annoying— his mum has taught him how to play shogi and now he’s trying to challenge just about anyone. Shogi is an old man’s game, and she just doesn’t have the patience for it. But the other day, she’s met the cutest boy in the flower shop! He wanted to buy some flowers for his mum’s birthday. How sweet is he, Sakura-chan! His name is Sasuke Uchiha. Like Sasuke Sarutobi, the hero! And Sasuke-kun is so pretty too. And she really has so many more stories to tell. She can’t wait until they can see each other face-to-face again. She can never seem to catch Sakura on her way to the Academy anymore!

Sakura would clutch at Ino’s card so tightly. She misses Ino.

But deep, deep, deep down— and she will never admit this out loud— Ino’s words leave her with the strangest feeling. Sakura tries her hardest not to dwell on it.

The sky is tinged orange now, and at night the skies seem to lose their stars. Sakura would overhear as whispers start between her classmates. Konoha is losing ground to Suna; there is talk of so much blood spilling across the sand that it looks like a red river. Shinobi are disappearing too, and the Great Nations are all pointing fingers at each other. Her classmates talk with such excitement, like they can’t wait their turn to be part of this ghost story. Some of them graduate ahead of the others, and Sakura would gain new classmates. The whispers would start again. It really feels like fun and games to them, and it shouldn’t.

Suzume-sensei would tell them to focus. There really isn’t much time left.

It’s a scary thought that finds Sakura settling in her parents’ bed at night, between where mama and papa would lie if they were there. But the pillows hardly smell like them anymore.

The only positive Sakura finds in all this is a confirmed talent for chakra. Suzume-sensei would have her perform the leaf test again— and then some. Wall-walking. Water-walking. Regulating chakra through her body to stay warm or cool in extreme weather. And then, approaching her third week in class, Sakura would perform the substitution technique. And it would be near flawless, but Sakura would land roughly, having lost the feeling in her legs. Sakura would vomit onto the floor, her head spinning. From the sensation, from the exhaustion— and there would be the oddest gleam in Suzume-sensei’s eyes. It is the first and only time sensei would tell her, “Well done.”

Sakura’s shoulders would shake. Hearing sensei say it really wouldn’t bring the satisfaction Sakura thought it would.

“Haruno is not from a shinobi clan. And yet, she has managed this in a fraction of the time that the rest of you had,” Suzume-sensei would say, turning away from her to face the class. “What does that say for you lot?”

Sakura would grimace at the leftover taste of bile, and sit back as her head pounds. Her classmates watch her with varying expressions, none of which are happy for her. Suzume-sensei would scribble away on her clipboard like she has a secret.

It is three weeks in. Sakura will only learn later that success draws in all sorts of attention.


	3. Chapter 3

Her vision is blurring out of focus. Her legs still feel like jelly. Her tummy is gripping, painfully empty from losing her lunch. She thinks she can still taste bile on her tongue. Kiba is certainly kind enough to keep telling her he can still smell it. And this is after each and every time she scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed away at the dojo floor. 

At the fourth time, Suzume-sensei claps the back of his head and says, “You’re beyond pestering just Haruno, now. Enough is enough.”

Kiba huffs at her, rolling his eyes. “Ain’t this ‘character buildin’’?”

“No back talk, Inuzuka,” Suzume-sensei says. 

“Like I get a report card, anyway,” Kiba shoots back, crossing his arms.

“You have all this cheek, with no success to show for it,” Suzume-sensei says, her voice dropping dangerously low. 

The class stutters to a stop, eyes watching them with creeping curiosity. Kiba doesn’t seem to care. “Aw, psshht. The final exam’s a joke anyway.”

“I am certainly keeping score. If not for you, then certainly for your superiors. They will not be impressed by your lack of basic shinobi skills.”

“Skill. _Skill_. Just one! That stupid Replacement Jutsu,” Kiba barks, voice almost too sharp. “And I’ll get there when I get there!” He walks away without being dismissed, muttering to himself about how _things just take time sometimes_. The class breaks into whispers amongst themselves. But Suzume-sensei straightens her back and clicks her neck, and there’s enough of a sense of threat in it that the class would scatter into silence just as quickly. Sakura thinks Suzume-sensei might send Kiba out of class, like Mizuki-sensei would with Fuki if he misbehaved. She doesn’t. 

She goes back to scribbling away at her clipboard. It’s anticlimactic. But that can’t be it, surely. Is Kiba really just— getting away with this?

“A lot later than rest of the class, clearly. Remember, Haruno is the new benchmark. We shall see what happens when you don't meet the measure,” Suzume-sensei says to his back. The way Kiba’s shoulders tense is all sensei needs to know he is listening. Sakura tenses for a different reason altogether. Sensei continues, “Well. This entire exchange has said a lot about you, don’t you think?”

Kiba shoots sensei the dirtiest look. He says nothing more. Neji has taught her that it’s all sorts of bad should the wrong ears hear that anyone is unhappy. She wonders if Kiba knows it too.

Sakura hurries scrubbing away at the floor for the fifth time. She glances at Kiba, but his jaw is set tight, his eyes deep in thought. Sakura takes this as reprieve and empties her soap bucket in a toilet down the corridor.

She wonders if Kiba is brave, or stupid— or both. Sakura finds herself envying him anyway.

He seems entirely unbothered by the standards Suzume-sensei wants to uphold. Unbothered by this— shallow _rivalry_ Suzume-sensei seems intent on imposing on the class. Between Sakura’s skill for chakra, and theirs. As if the class isn’t mean enough already, without sensei’s interference. Sakura wishes Suzume-sensei would stop, but lacks the courage to say as much.

The clan kids that come and go in class are allowed to be good at what they’re good at. Why can’t she? The class trumps her in almost every category there is: weapons training, sparring, target practice— even report writing! Sakura _likes_ being good with chakra. Can’t she have just this?

She learns too quickly, the answer is no.

In the last hour of class, Suzume-sensei arranges for them all to spar. Where no one would spar with her before, Sakura suddenly finds no lack of volunteers. She’s tripped, and pushed and shoved down and knocked about. Somewhere in all this, she thinks she hears someone say, _“What a joke.”_

Between skinned knees and scratched palms, the tears are all too familiar when they make her eyes sting. 

When she loses another spar, she’s pulled up off the floor by her shirt. Through blurry eyes she meets black Uchiha ones looming over her. She can almost pretend they’re the angry red Mizuki-sensei says they turn into. Her hands clutch at where he’s holding on to her. He's holding her up with just one. He is so much taller than her too; she feels herself shrink. She wishes she could remember his name. Another part of her disagrees: a bully is a bully. 

He says, voice low, “Don’t you think, not for a second, that you’re better than me.”

“I’m not,” she agrees wildly, shaking her head. Anything to make him let go of her. She knows he won’t hurt her any more than a spar would permit; she’s terrified anyway. Her eyes lock on to Suzume-sensei’s back, just over Uchiha-san’s shoulder. She’s nudging Onikuma’s knees apart, and folding his arms just so. There is no way sensei isn’t hearing their exchange—

But Sakura knows all too well that sensei won’t step in. Not until Uchiha-san goes too far, in sensei’s eyes. Whatever _too far_ might be.

This— this is just another show of character building.

Sakura swallows brokenly, throat tight. Hot tears stream down her cheeks. Her hands fall at her sides. How pathetic she must look. Ino-chan would be so disappointed.

“How about Hyuga?” Uchiha-san cocks his head impatiently, to Hyuga-san nearby. “Are you better than Hyuga?”

“No,” she says, voice even quieter. She shuts her eyes tightly. She misses Fuki. She misses Ami. She misses stupid digs about her forehead and dodging paper balls and getting tripped and the rest. This is so much worse.

“And Aburame?” 

“N-no!” Sakura bows her head. She misses mama and papa. She misses Ino.

“Oi, I think she gets it,” Kiba’s voice cuts in. “Quit, already.”

And then it’s too quiet. Sakura imagines they have a stare down. She imagines Suzume-sensei finally turning her head to look, and shaking her head disapprovingly. Sakura doesn’t know. She’s worried if she opens her eyes to look, she’ll break this fragile thing Kiba’s created. She worries if she opens her eyes right this second, this just might happen all over again.

“We’re clan shinobi… We’re just… better,” Ino-chan said once. But that’s not really what she said. They were talking about chakra. Practice. That clan shinobi or not, it’s all practice. —But right this second, Sakura finds it all too difficult to believe. She picked up chakra control easily enough. What proof is there to say that being a clan shinobi is all practice? What if they are just better? She feels too many things at once: anger, sadness, frustration.

It can’t have been any longer than a few seconds. She gasps in relief when Uchiha-san drops her. She realises belatedly, that he must’ve been holding her up. Her legs wobble and fold under her bonelessly. When she looks up again, Uchiha-san has moved on to packing away his things.

She looks up at Kiba, but she can’t read his expression. She hopes he can read _thank you_ , in hers.

“Class dismissed.”

She can’t scramble out of the Academy quick enough.

\--

It is a day later. The class carries on as if the incident between her and Uchiha-san never happened. They leave a wide berth around her. They talk over her. They pick her last in group assignments and spars. It is wonderful. Sensei hasn’t even tried to implying any rivalry today. Sakura wonders why it might be, that she changed her mind. But only briefly. 

She’s too grateful to think sad things today. 

“Stand up straight, Haruno.”

Sakura does as she is told and lifts her chin, for good measure. Suzume-sensei inspects her for a moment before continuing, “— this is a supplementary D-rank technique, derived from the Replacement Technique. I believe you will have no issue with this. I will show you only once, so I expect you to pay attent— _yes_ , Haruno?”

Sakura lowers her hand shyly. She hides her eyes behind her hair. It really is getting long. “Is— is this part of the exam?”

Suzume-sensei frowns at her. “Pay attention, Haruno. I said this was supplementary. If you have no interest in learning beyond the scope of what’s required for the exam, this—”

“NO!” Sakura says quickly. Suzume-sensei raises an eyebrow. Sakura clears her throat, her cheeks colouring. She says, calmly this time, “No, sensei. I am interested, I promise. I’ll be quiet.” She nods encouragingly, wringing her hands.

Suzume-sensei sighs, rubbing at a temple. “Your classmates should have _some_ familiarity with this technique— or at least, will encounter it soon enough and learn it through their family. However, as you have… extenuating circumstances, my superiors have seen it fit for me to supply you with some remedial studies. I, of course, had to acquiesce. It is up to you to pay full attention. So, if you would please not interrupt me any more?”

Sakura nods her head excitedly, her eyes wide and bright.

“Right.” Sensei nods curtly, and forms the tiger hand seal. “This is the Body Flicker Technique.”

-

Sensei says her grasp on the new technique is “rudimentary. Mediocre, almost”. It is enough to find it within herself to want to celebrate. With a feast! It has been a good day. Good days are too few and far in between lately. And it’s as good an excuse as any to fill her stomach up. Sensei is running them beyond ragged lately— even more so than before—and it’s awful paired with the shortest breaks or none at all.

Suzume-sensei calls it discipline. Preparing them for what’s to come.

Sakura doesn’t like the sound of that. She hopes wherever mama and papa are, they’re warm and fed and rested. Or at the very least, with her fingers and toes crossed, she hopes they are safe.

Feasting is a bad idea. She only gets so much in her food box each week. But Sakura would like to think that maybe mama or papa would be home soon. She knows it’s foolishly optimistic. She just really misses home-cooked dinners, even if mama tended to burn rice. Sakura would eat it all gratefully, right there and then, if it meant her parents would come home. And if not… well, Ino did say she could leave a note if she needs anything. Maybe, Sakura could be shameless enough to take her up on it.

Really, Sakura doesn’t think beyond hunger. She really is so very hungry. She cracks open tinned spinach, smacks it onto a plate and listens as it squelches. She spoons the corners smooth into a lump of a ball, and it’s her worst attempt at prettifying her dinner to date. Sakura isn’t bothered; it tastes like the tin itself, all metal and cold and grey. She scoffs it down anyway.

Next, she helps herself to a pot of instant ramen. The three minutes the noodles take to cook pass too slowly. As the timer dings, Sakura tears the lid and she slurps it all down to the last drop. It is the best thing she has tasted in so long. She feels her tummy fill, and she’s completely warm all over too. She belatedly says her thanks for the meal. She really means it this time.

Sakura washes her meal down with apricots. It’s delicious, coated in too-sweet syrup. Sakura can almost imagine her mama gasping in horror, pulling the tin out of her hands and saying, “This much sugar, this late at night? Sakura-chan, you know that’s not good for you— it’ll keep you up tonight! Now, slow down. You’re eating too much too quickly. You’ll make yourself sick!”

She blinks, and stares down at the tin with a building sense of horror. _Too much_. All too suddenly, Sakura would remember herself. How mama and papa won’t come home any time soon. How she is silly to think otherwise. How she would never, ever ask Ino for help for food. And how selfish must she be, to even think to take advantage of Ino’s kindness like that. Sakura tries her best to fix this:

There’s no salvaging the empty packages of food. The plate is scraped clean of spinach too. Sakura would run to the fridge and hide her half-eaten apricots there. She’d scrub the sugary syrup from her cheeks. Her stomach is full, but now with a sinking feeling. She shouldn’t have eaten three meals in one night. She only gets so much food each week. She will have to go hungry, more so than usual, this week.

When she’s in bed, Sakura stares up at the ceiling too long before sleep overtakes her. Sakura blames the sugar, but she knows that’s not true.

\--

Sakura is earlier than usual today. She sits on the swing outside the Academy. Too many leaves are collecting underneath the tree, patching the grass with all the same, strange colours. Not quite autumnal, it’s not the right time of year. The grass and leaves are a sickly yellow. An ashy white. They are colours she thinks the air would be, if it had a colour. These days, it certainly has a taste and smell. It tastes like the beating heat on her skin; it smells like the bitter smoke she sees billowing upwards into the sky from not too far away. It sticks to her hair and clothes and skin, no matter how hard she tries to scourge it all off.

The little weed Ino pointed out too long ago is wilted. It bothers her more than it should.

Summertime has never been quite like this. Sakura finds herself wishing for rain.

Further down the street, shinobi flit in and out of the Mission Assignment Building. It’s the busiest she’s seen it in a while. They’re all wearing grim expressions. None of them are any younger than— ten, maybe, if she has to guess. Sakura tries not to think too much about what this means.

She hopes Neji is okay.

“What’re you squintin’ for?” Kiba’s voice jolts her. He’s approaching the Academy Gate too slowly. The red triangles on his cheeks are suspiciously smudged, just under his eyes. 

Sakura cant help it; she looks around. Kiba rolls his eyes. “’Course I’m talkin’ to you. Jeez.”

“Sorry,” Sakura says, offering a one-shouldered shrug. They’ve hardly have exchanged too many words before. In fact, it is only days ago when he stopped Uchiha-san from belittling her any more. In the weeks before, his place in class has always been to tell her she sucked, or that she smelled like dog shampoo, or that her tummy was growling too loud. And there was that time where he kicked dirt in her eyes, the first time sensei took their spars outside. Sakura couldn’t stop herself from crying— it _stung_. Sensei didn’t mind. It was the only time sensei would let her without launching into another speech. Tears to rinse the dirt out, sensei says, is fine by her.

“Inuzuka is well within his rights to use his environment, Haruno,” sensei said then. “And so are you. Use everything you’ve got.”

Her eyes wander back to the shinobi down the street. Mizuki-sensei said once, the green of the shinobi flak-jackets helps them blend into the dense forests in the Land of Fire. But the leaves are all now curling white, and trees, at least in the village, are getting sparser every day. The thick of summer has yet to hit. She wonders at first, how do the Konoha shinobi blend in now? But watching them sheathe large weapons and launching onto the rooftops fearlessly, a part of her thinks that maybe, they don’t hide at all.

Kiba’s eyes must’ve followed hers this time. After too long a beat, he shakes his head and says quietly, “They’re not sayin’ anythin’ good, if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

“You— can hear them?” From sharing a class, Sakura knows Kiba’s hearing is very good. But they are so far away!

Kiba offers her a sneer. For the first time, Sakura notices his teeth are very sharp, like the fangs he’s named after. Paired with the vertical slits he has for pupils and untamed hair, Kiba seems animalistic. She guesses this— alongside the Yamanaka pupil-less eyes, and the pearly white of the Hyugas— must be just another clan thing. 

She leans closer anyway, all too curious. “What are they saying?”

“Not so loud,” Kiba says, but the way he tilts his head toward the shinobi suggests he’s curious too. Concentration is a strange look on Kiba’s face. He’s always sharp retorts and sly remarks and laughs and then _“ow”_ s when Suzume-sensei would smack him up the head for misbehaving. After too long, Kiba says finally, “Most of it’s boring.”

“What’s not boring?” Sakura finds herself asking despite herself.

Kiba shoots her a strange look. He says, “For someone so wimpy, you sure ask a lot of questions.”

Sakura knows shinobi guard their secrets jealously. She's seen it, from the way Neji wouldn’t explain his strange taijutsu stance, to how Ino would dance around what it is exactly that her dad does that makes him so strong. Still, the ones down the street are talking openly. Whatever it is they have to say, Sakura thinks she has a right to know too. She bristles slightly.

And as much as Sakura is inwardly protesting at being called wimpy, she knows he has no other basis to call her otherwise. Her track record in class isn’t exactly the greatest, after all. She asks instead, voice quieter like Kiba asks, “Did anyone die?”

Kiba shakes his head, a half-smile on his mouth. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “They’re talkin’ about the White Fang’s son.” The tone his voice takes, it’s as if it should explain a lot. But Sakura doesn’t understand.

“Who’s he?”

“The White Fang,” Kiba repeats, an eyebrow raised at her disbelievingly. He pads closer and peers into her eyes, as if to check that she might be lying to him. And then he learns just so his mouth is close enough to whisper in her ear. Even then, she strains to hear him. Her eyes squint in focus. “Sakumo Hatake. Some people say he started the war. Call him War Starter Sakumo. Ma thinks it’s a load of crap though. She says he was golden. He’s dead now.”

“Oh,” Sakura says quietly. “What— what happened?”

“He hated being hated so he killed himself.”

“But— what about his son?”

Kiba pulls away to stare down at her face, like she’s missing out on the most obvious thing. “Why don’t you know anythin’? Hana-nee said your parents are shinobi. But the way you don’t know anythin’— you’re practically civilian.”

She hears Ino in her head again:

_“We’re just… better.”_

Sakura can’t help but recoil. She feels her too-short nails dig into her palms to leave crescent-moon indentations. Her brow is furrowed, and her cheeks go aflame. She feels angry again, and frustrated, and upset— all of it. She breathes out slowly through her nose, like she has seen mama do when she tries to calm down. She meets Kiba’s eyes with her chin held high.

“There’s nothing wrong with being civilian,” she says. Her voice is more gravelly than she likes.

Kiba looks almost confused, suddenly. She can’t even begin to understand why. He says slowly, like he’s cornering a caged animal, “I know that.” Sakura thinks she must’ve said it all wrong, because he doesn’t get it. She opens her mouth to try again, but the moment is gone all too quickly. Kiba says, “I’m just sayin’. For a shinobi-in-trainin’, you don’t seem to know much about why we’re fightin’.”

“Does it matter?” Sakura says more heatedly than she means to. “Even if it’s not for the same reasons as everyone else, I know why I’m fighting.”

Kiba’s eyes widen and he shushes her quickly. He looks to the thinning group of shinobi again, and then back to her. His voice is quiet again. “You need to quiet now. Ma says we can’t say things like that out here.”

 _It’s sedition_ , she hears.

Sakura swallows tightly, and looks up at him. Her mouth opens again to say something, but Kiba has his hand held up to pause them from talking. His head is tilted to the shinobi down the street again. The seconds that pass until he’s certain they’re clear are too slow.

When Kiba nods at her to continue, Sakura says, “You’re doing it again. Looking out for me. You never did it before, but you did it the other day. And you’re doing it now. Why do you care?”

“I think you’re dumb, Haruno, but I don’t want you in trouble,” Kiba says, eyes narrowed.

“I’m not dumb,” Sakura says pitifully. “I’m really smart, actually.”

Kiba stares at her for the longest time. And then he shakes his head and looks heavenward. He sighs something that sounds an awful lot like, _“Girls.”_

Sakura huffs. She hopes she isn’t pouting outwardly, but suddenly she finds herself wishing he would go away. Or that the Academy Gates would open. Something, so he wouldn’t just stay here like he seems keen on doing. They’re not friends, and he’s not friendly. Sakura doesn’t understand him; she’s getting tired of not understanding things. 

But then Kiba would say, “Are you always here this early?” and she forgets her train of thought for the minute.

“… Not this early,” Sakura says. “But early enough times to know you’re never early.”

“Was just easier. Got tired of listenin’ to Hana-nee. She thinks just cus ma’s away, she’s suddenly the boss of me.” He slouches, hands shoved in his pockets. Kiba kicks a pebble and watches it skip away. 

KIba has never opened up to anyone in class, as far as she is aware. She thinks he really must be troubled, to want to talk to her, of all people, so freely. But having parents always gone away is something she can relate to. She finds herself asking, “Has your mama been away long?” 

“Nah. Not this time. But when she comes home, she won’t stay long. We hardly see her,” he says. “Hana-nee’s just gotten used to it, y’know? Not me, though. I don’t want to, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Sakura says again.

Kiba shakes his head. “You say that a lot. What’re you sorry about now?”

“I— I just,” Sakura stops, shrugging. “I understand, that’s all.”

“Pshhh. Maybe bits. But not all of it,” Kiba says. He falls onto the dirt beside her and stares up at naked branches. “Ma’s supposed to be teachin’ me and Akamaru…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. Not like we had the time.”

Sakura wonders who Akamaru is, but thinks better than to ask. She says leadingly, “But the clan kids always practice after school…”

“Not always,” Kiba says, rolling his eyes at her. “See, I’m in the same sort of boat as you. Ma’s not home. That means, I’m not gettin’ any extra training. But I’m not lettin’ that stop me. I beat Uchiha’s ass the other day. You saw me! Think I did that with any clan training?”

Sakura gapes at him, mortified— at his language, at his pride. “You bit him!” That was one of the few times Suzume-sensei had to step out with a student, to take them to the hospital. It was really messy. Kiba’s entire mouth and jaw were bloody. The students steered clear of Kiba after that.

Kiba grins, a flash of sharp teeth again. “I did! And I’d do it again, too. If Uchiha couldn’t dodge me, he really has no business pushin’ people about.” He sobers then, looking at her with a frown. “Were you really gonna just let him bully you like that? It pissed me off to watch you.”

Sakura decides then to focus on a single blade of grass between them. Drying and dying. She says almost too quietly, “They’re better than me…”

Kiba snorts. “They think they’re better than you. That’s not the same thing.” 

Sakura looks up at him, startled. Her mouth opens, and then shuts, and then opens again. Her brain can’t seem to form the right words she needs to say to that. It doesn’t matter, though. Kiba is staring back at the direction he came from, looking bothered by his thoughts again.

She decides to steer the conversation back to him; she can sort her own thoughts later. Sakura says, “… you don’t get extra practice after school?”

It takes a while for Kiba to respond, and when he starts, he sounds uncertain, almost— sad. “… It’s not that simple. Ma’s off fightin’. And really she’s the only one that can teach me and Akamaru. Like how pups at the kennels only listen to their ma. That’s how we do it in our clan. The nin and the ninken. Together.” He rubs at his cheeks again, and the red smears some more. “But— we never got to practice. Ma’s not here. And even if she was, Akamaru’s still too little. We just don’t have the time to wait till he’s a little bigger. But that’s not his fault. We all thought I wouldn’t be going to the Academy until later. Akamaru would’ve been big enough then.” 

He laughs a little, and right then, it is the gentlest she has ever seen Kiba be. He sounds happy, proud too. “He’s so smart though. He’s silly and he drives Hana-nee up the wall cus he’s always trackin’ mud about the house from outside. And he still falls over when he runs sometimes, and eats too quick and makes such a mess. But it’s okay, cus I clean up after him. And he sleeps on my chest at night. It’s like he’s lookin’ out for me, like he knows he’s s’posed to. He’s so little, but he gets it, and I know he’ll be so good one day.”

His smile is little strained, then. “But he’s too little. He’s not even fully potty-trained. I’ve tried to teach him, you know? I keep tryin’, any time I get a chance. When I wake up in the morning, and then every night when I get home— since I’m at the Academy all the other times. And I’d put him outside and tell him to go, and he just looks at me, like “go where?” because he’ll follow me anywhere. And I’d let him. And when he’s big enough, and if I need him to, he’ll lead. But he can’t do that yet. 

“Hana-nee says I need to hurry it up and potty-train him already, because if he gets it, then maybe she can teach us a ‘lil of what she knows before I graduate. Like we asked for it. Like she’s my ma, or whatever. We both know it won’t work with her, so it’s such a waste of time talkin’ about it. She’s got no clue what she’s really s’pposed to be doin’. She’s at home and she acts like she’s stuck there. It’s so dumb. She wants to be a vet, or somethin’. Must be nice.” He puffs his cheeks. “But aren’t vets s’posed to know that puppies need to be a ‘lil older before you can train ‘em anythin’? Stupid sister.”

“And now I’m graduatin’ tomorrow, and Akamaru’s still too little. And for me— I think it’s okay, but Hana-nee is—,” Kiba stops, shaking his head with a loaded sigh. “You know, ma says Akamaru’s meant to be a ‘flection of me. I don’t want to leave him. He’ll be so sad. But I can’t— I won’t take him with me. Not when he’s so little.”

Her throat is too dry suddenly. She watches Kiba rub at his cheeks again. The red is runny now, streaking past his cheeks onto his jaw. She says softly, “I think Akamaru understands. He’s only little, but he understands.”

“Hana-nee is stupid,” Kiba says decisively. "She's so lucky I like her sometimes." 

And then, a look of realisation dawns on his face. Kiba groans into his hands, "Aw, listen to me. Suzume-sensei must be rubbing off on me!" 

“I think your speech was better," Sakura says soothingly, ignoring Kiba's derisive snort. "I also think maybe your sister is just trying to look out for you."

“But Akamaru is a part of me too,” he retorts. “That Hana-nee... Feel bad for Akamaru. He’ll have to live with her. It’s the only way though.” 

“Until he’s big enough,” Sakura says encouragingly. Kiba’s smile is wobbly, but it’s there. She eases herself off the swing after too long a moment of quiet. She pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and offers it to him.

“I don’t need your charity,” he says, grabbing at it anyway. “Stupid thing to keep in your pocket anyway.”

Sakura shrugs. “I cry a lot.”

“Girls,” Kiba says again, and this time the smile is more at home on his face. “Now don’t you go tellin’ anyone what I just told you. I got a reputation to keep.”

“Of course,” Sakura says immediately. Really, she thinks he might have spilled a clan secret or two. But Sakura won't tell; she has no one to tell. 

He pulls the handkerchief away with a big gasp. “Aw! I got paint everywhere.”

Sakura hums, watching as he rubs and rubs until all the paint leaves his cheeks. She finds a seat across him, and yanks the withered blades of grass idly. She says, “I thought they were permanent, you know.”

“Maybe one day,” Kiba says wistfully, staring at the soiled handkerchielf. He pockets it with a promise of a clean return. He meets her eyes then, offering a half-smile. “Know what? I shoulda given you a chance. In class, I mean. You’re actually alright.”

Sakura lets out a short laugh. “So are you. I thought you were mean.”

“I thought you were dumb,” Kiba returns without missing a beat. 

“Suzume-sensei says I’m smart,” Sakura retorts.

“You’re ‘really smart, actually,’” Kiba mocks her good-naturedly, laughing along with her now. He sobers a little after a moment. “No, really though. You weird some of the other kids out, you know? Like— like when you figured out chakra before the rest of us did. But then, you didn’t even know Hyuga was a Hyuga until he said. It’s— stupid,” he finishes lamely, with an awkward shrug. 

“It’s not,” Sakura argues weakly, cheeks colouring. She bows her head, “Mizuki-sensei never got around to teaching us history, or much about the village. Just said stuff about secret eyes and then— that was it. And mama and papa never talk much about being shinobi.”

“That’s so weird,” Kiba says, blinking. “If it’s worth anythin’, ma never talks much about civilians. I don’t think she knows much about them either.”

“They’re nice. The ones I know anyway,” Sakura says. “But— I’m… clan-less.” The word is stiff on her tongue. “Not civilian.” 

Kiba rolls his eyes. “But you live in the civilian sector, don’t you? You smell a little like the Hanami Dango Shop.”

“That’s just a few doors down from my house!” Sakura says, eyes wide. “You can smell that?”

“There’s been an awful lot of smoke out here. Had to focus on something else,” He says, tapping his nose with a wink. “Inuzuka nose.”

Sakura wonders aloud, “So— the Inuzuka can hear and smell really well?”

Kiba smiles at her like she’s said the most endearing thing. “Right, how’s about a ‘lil history lesson, then? Basic stuff.”

“From you!” Sakura gasps, as if scandalised, but she’s bouncing excitedly. 

“Just so I don’t have to explain myself anymore!” Kiba insists, rubbing the back of his neck with a shrug. A blush settles on his cheeks at her full attention. “You ask a lot of questions, you know!”

\--

In the back of her mind, Sakura has always known this: kunai are sharp. They whistle through the air like a quiet song. They embed themselves in the wooden training posts outside— which are replaced just as the wood starts to cripple under all the duress. It never takes too long. They sliced through her uniform like tinned apricots. They left marks on her parents’ bedroom floor.

Kunai are sharp. And yet, just _how sharp_ never seems to ground itself into her until right this moment. She only did try to grab it from her holster. The weapon clatters on to the floor instead. She barely manages to stumble back a bit before it could swipe at her feet too. Red rushes out of her hand, and her eyes well up to follow. Her teeth sink into her lower lip. She’s frozen at her feet as she searches for Suzume-sensei.

Her classmates look at her with varying levels of derision, but ultimately choose to ignore her. They keep at their task, withdrawing and replacing weapons from holsters and hidden pockets, over and over. As fast as they can. Until the movement is second nature. It’s an odd exercise. Suzume-sensei says it might save their life one day.

In her head, Ino-chan’s voice has found a home. She’s saying, “Practice. That’s all it is! Practice!”

A more rational part of Sakura knows that this was bound to happen. She’s done well to get this far without cutting herself— until now. A larger part of her mourns at her clumsiness. This is a basic exercise, and yet, it’s another one she’s failing. She can almost imagine Neji saying: this is her fate. Sakura wants so badly to believe otherwise, but— there is no mistaking the horrified resignation settling in her skin. 

Sakura feels drips settle on her toes, awfully warm. She can’t say for sure if it’s tears or blood. She doesn’t want to look. She realises belatedly that she really is crying again.

She’s _doomed_. 

She’s panicking.

“S-sensei!” she calls, breath unsteady. And this time a few of her classmates do pause. They shoot her incredulous looks, shaking their head. She hears them muttering vaguely, but over the sound of her heart in her ears, the words wouldn’t take shape. It’s just as well. She doesn’t imagine them saying anything nice.

Sakura knows she heard her, but Suzume-sensei takes too long to turn her attention away from yet another Hyuga-san. It’s her first clue in that sensei isn’t pleased to have her private lesson interrupted. But Sakura is feeling faint with fright. Faint, at the thought of bleeding. Sensei walks over to Sakura in such an unhurried pace. Sakura tries to will herself to meet sensei halfway, but it feels like her legs are stuck. Sakura is shaking, and she can’t help the constricted hiccup that rises out of her.

She feels like she’s failing.

Mama or papa would’ve rushed over by now. Once, too long ago, Sakura stole the kitchen scissors and was a little too brave. Mama would always use them to cut cleanly at this or that; they really were the best at cutting little shapes, string people and card— and then later, Sakura’s finger too. It was only a little cut. Really, her pride hurt more than anything else did. Still, mama and papa would fuss and shush her. They stuck on a colourful band-aid. And then they told her not to play with sharp things until she is a little older.

Sakura doesn’t feel that much older now. She hears Kiba in her head: _too little. Too little._

Sensei bends down to her height and grabs hold of Sakura’s extended wrist. Sensei’s fingertips are cold against Sakura’s skin, and while she did expect it, she can’t help wincing. Her hand is turned over once: a quick study. Sakura feels her face burn under Suzume-sensei’s stare anyway. It is only when sensei starts to wipe at the cut— clean, precise strokes— that Sakura hisses.

“Are you paying attention?”

When Sakura fails to respond adequately enough, sensei’s hand closes on her wrist a little tighter. A warning, not reassuring. Sakura looks through her racing mind, up to Suzume-sensei’s frowning face. She’s tutting, but not in the doting way mama does. Sakura feels she’s disappointed sensei again. It makes her feel even worse. “This happens to the best and the worst of us.”

Sensei sounds almost too calm. 

“C-cutting ourselves?” Sakura asks, eyes wide and watery.

Suzume sensei shakes her head, dabbing at the cut some more. Sakura hisses again. Suzume-sensei meets Sakura’s eyes, saying idly, “Getting hurt.”

Her heart is sinking again. Sakura stops herself from thinking any further, lest she upset herself even more. She puts all her focus into watching sensei at work. Efficient. Cool. Sakura says, “… Mama says to always rinse first.”

“… She’s not wrong,” Suzume-sensei says with a strange edge to her voice. And then she’s quiet for the barest moment too long.

“Sensei?”

Suzume-sensei clears her throat. She reaches into her vest and pulls out another cloth, and a roll of bandages. Gone is the too-gentle tone to sensei’s voice. It’s smooth now. Polished and practiced, like her horrible speeches. Sakura flinches like it’s ice against her neck. Suzume-sensei is never nice for too long. Sakura shouldn’t have let her guard down. “But if you knew how this all worked, why did you feel the need to call me over?” She hands Sakura the bandages, an eyebrow raised in challenge. “Well?”

Sakura looks at her hand. Now that the blood is gone, she sees the cut is smaller than she first imagined. 

She realises she must look very silly. Stupid, even.

She is the worst shinobi-in-training ever. 

“I’m sorry, sensei,” she whispers, cheeks reddening again. She wipes her tears with the back of her sleeve. The material is rough, but it’s a welcome distraction. She thinks she hears the class snicker around her. There’s the odd crusting feeling of something drying on her toes. Her heart lies in a pit in her tummy. All the fuss she’s caused! It’s no wonder sensei is angry. 

She’s failing.

Against her will, the tears just seem not to want to stop. She rubs and rubs and rubs away at her eyes with her sleeve. She is so foolish.

Suzume-sensei waits an entire minute for Sakura to try to calm herself, and then clears her throat. She sounds uncomfortable suddenly. “You _are_ graduating in two days, are you not?” At Sakura’s jerky nod, she continues, “I will say this once. Tears will not get you very far.”

Sakura gasps in air and holds her breath for as long as she dares. Papa says this stops hiccups. Maybe this stops crying too. Sensei’s opinion of her was low to begin with. The class too. Sakura can only imagine where she stands now in their eyes.

“A shinobi is so much more than hitting their targets and executing techniques,” Suzume-sensei says, launching into another mechanically-tailored speech. “It is conducting yourself with dignity, and discipline. There are guidelines for this, and it would be remiss of you not to stand by them. Haruno, what is Shinobi Rule Number Twenty-Five?”

Sakura exhales, and the panic seems to have drained from her entirely. She answers anyway. She knows this one well enough. “A shinobi must never show their tears.”

Suzume-sensei nods. “That is because tears will not protect the village, or you, or your comrades from harm. What is Shinobi Rule Number Eighteen?”

“A shinobi must—” Sakura stops, and hangs her head in shame. “Sensei, I don’t know all the rules.”

Suzume-sensei continues as if Sakura never spoke, eyes narrowed in concentration to remember the practiced thing: “Shinobi Rule Number Eighteen: A shinobi must never show any weakness. It is standing up straight, so you can fight bravely against our enemies. It is looking them in the eye, so they don’t catch you off guard. It is fighting till your last breath, and bravely. It is patching yourself up when you can, so your team does not have to suffer.”

Sakura waits patiently for her admonishment: 

“Hyuga-san had to compromise his personal training time so I could attend to you. And here I find, you didn’t need it anyway.”

“I’m sorry, sensei,” Sakura says, her voice meek. She feels her classmates staring more openly now.

“You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” Suzume-sensei says, almost too quietly. She meets Sakura’s eyes and it is the first time Sakura thinks she’s meant something: “You’re capable of more than you think.”

Her mouth gapes in shock, her eyes wide as she tries to peer past the lens of sensei’s glasses for some hint of expression. “Sensei?”

Suzume-sensei straightens to her full height. She clears her throat, and suddenly she’s all too cold again. Her back is rigid as she turns away from Sakura dismissively.

“Get that wrapped, Haruno.”

\--

It’s lighter than she expects.

The fabric is made from the same coarse material as her uniform. Navy too. Always navy. 

Sakura sees her reflection glinting in the metal, marred by— the Konoha symbol. Shiny and new, not at all like mama and papa’s, weathered by weather, age and—battle. Her throat closes up tightly, as she grabs a better hold of the material— as Suzume-sensei lets go.

Her hand falls limply at her side, the forehead protector with it. Suzume-sensei tracks the motion, and just as quickly, chooses to focus on a point past Sakura’s shoulder instead.

“Wear it with pride, Haruno,” Suzume-sensei says. “Congratulations.”

Sakura’s eyes well up again, but she can’t let them spill. 

A shinobi must never show their tears.


	4. Chapter 4

“Come at me, then.”

Sakura rushes forward. Before she blinks, she finds her arm twisted behind her. There’s a tap on her throat. Akame-senpai says, “Dead.” He lets her go. He falls back to his starting place and says, “Come on. Like you mean it, kid.”

“Sakura,” she whispers. “My name is Sakura Haruno.”

Akame-senpai raises an eyebrow. The other side of his face puckers under all the gauze and tape. When he says nothing, Sakura charges again, unsheathing her kunai—

She finds herself thrown onto the ground, the tip of her own weapon a breadth away from her sternum. 

“Dead again.” He lets her go, tossing her kunai. It embeds itself into the dirt by her head. Sakura flinches, scrambling to her knees. The ground is all dirt and grit, but Akame-senpai’s gaze is harder.

“I’m sorry. I—” she starts, but Akame-senpai raises his hand to silence her.

“I’ve seen enough. Look, kid. I hate to break it to you,” he says. “You’ve not got a fighting chance.”

“Please,” Sakura says thickly, but she isn’t sure what she’s asking for. 

Akame-senpai rubs the exposed side of his face. “I’m no good at this. Listen, I’m only back in this village because—" He looks almost guilty. “Because I’m injured. I’m not going to lie to you, kid. Hokage-sama said that a few of us could come back the village at a time to recuperate, if we took on some fresh genin. The opportunity was there. Of course, I took it! The whole idea was that you genin would get to build some experience, and us chunin— people like me, would get some time to heal and rest. Win-win.” 

Sakura already knows to brace herself for the drop. Whatever he has yet to say, she will not like it. She inhales sharply and holds her breath. She nods once. “Okay.”

He’s pacing, but he’s struggling to walk in a straight line. He says, “But— look, I just _lost an eye_ , alright? My aim and depth perception are skewed and the hospital just doesn’t have enough resources… I need to focus on this. I need to re-train myself before they send me back out there. I have— what, a week at most, maybe?”

Her lungs are a little desperate for air now, but he’s yet to finish. She nods again. “Okay.”

Akame-senpai looks at her like she’s missing the point. He spells it out finally: “Listen, kid. I know it’s the agreement, but I just can’t train you. I don’t have the time. I know it’s bad, but I just can’t do it. You understand, don’t you?”

She exhales sharply, and takes in another long breath. It doesn’t do so well to keep her calm. She says, “But—but you said I don’t have a chance. I _need_ you to train me.” Her voice is cracking. Her heart seems to have lodged itself up in her throat.

Akame-senpai looks a little sorry now. “Kid… I’m just not teaching material. Maybe another time, another life— but I can’t do this right now. You understand? I need to use this time to sort myself out. I can’t— I just don’t have it in me to train someone who’s not going to make it very far.”

 _You’re a waste of my time_ , she hears. Her ears ring from his words. She clutches at her chest to stifle the hurt, but it sinks underneath her skin. She feels something coil and twist and snake between her ribs, something viscous and sticky, stewing in her chest cavity. It’s ugly, but everything is ugly and she really should accept this by now. Her hands ball into fists.

“You won’t give me that chance,” she says, her voice soft. “You won’t help me.”

“Kid—”

“Sakura. My name is Sakura Haruno,” she says again, her tone pleading now.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says with a shallow sigh. “I have to look out for myself. I’m sorry. I just can’t train you.”

She looks up at him. Her back is stiff, her arms straight against her sides, her chin held high. Suzume-sensei would be proud. She recites, far more bravely than she really feels, “Shinobi Rule Number Nineteen: A Shinobi must follow their commander’s instructions.”

“Kid—"

She pushes: “Hokage-sama says if you come home, you have to train me.”

Akame-senpai snaps, “Don’t you use that against me.” He stalks toward her, and peers down at her from his nose. Suddenly, he doesn’t look so sorry any more. He says, “You’re a fresh genin. What have I got to teach you in a week that’ll save your life?”

“Anything!” she whispers. “Please.”

“ _Stop_.” His exposed eye is narrowed now. “You’re playing a dangerous game, kid. You listen to me, now. You’ll have me for a week tops, before you’re placed with another chunin. Maybe they’ll be less selfish than me, I don’t care. I see kids like you die nearly every day, and it sucks, but it happens. I’m not skimping out on my own training for your sake, not when your chances of survival are so low. Right now, I need to do what I need to do. And you have exactly this choice to make: be quiet and leave me be, or I tell your superiors you’re ready to be sent out there in an instant. I’ve lost enough sleep already that this’ll make no difference to me.”

“You…” she struggles with words for a moment. “You can’t.”

“That’s the deal I’m offering,” he says, his eyes distant. “Maybe your next senpai won’t be anything like me. You might find out, but only if you’re quiet. What do you say?”

“I understand,” she says tightly. She forces a smile for her own sake. Her vision ripples with unshed tears. She really is getting better at holding them in.

\--

If Sakura is bad with names, Akame-senpai doesn’t bother to learn them. When she gains two older genin as temporary teammates, Akame-senpai calls each of them “kid” too. Sakura at least tries by asking their names once. Their first names slip out of her mind quickly, though. It’s not entirely her fault; in her entire time at the Academy, almost everyone would address each other by their last name. Beyond Kiba and Neji, everyone is Uchiha, Hyuga, Aburame, Inuzuka— and she is expected to call them as such. Their last names grant them a place on an imaginary ladder.

That’s how anyone in class knows who gets first pick at the training posts, or first dibs on personal training time with Suzume-sensei. Sakura was always one of the last. One of her teammates, Ryugen, was a classmate once. He was one of the last too.

Clan-less or not, he didn’t think much of her then. Still doesn’t, even now.

He peers at her with a new, angry-red burn spanning from his jaw all the way down to his forearm. Still tender, because he flinches sometimes when his sleeve brushes against his skin. She wonders at the story behind it but learns better than to ask. When their third teammate, Kaiza, asked him what happened, he was met with nonsensical shouts and frantic shifting. Akame-senpai had to knock him unconscious.

It’s approaching the end of their second day together. Sakura can only tell because the birds in the aviary are swooping in from windows high-up to nap. They settle in little nooks and coo and leave droppings. Feathers of all colours drift about and they tickle at her nose. She holds in her sneeze as best as she can; she will stand by her and Akame-senpai’s agreement to stay quiet if she can help it.

Akame-senpai is plucking feathers out of the air— or trying to. He misses sometimes, but he’s quickly getting better. It looks like a game the team aren’t invited to. She doesn’t imagine Kaiza and Ryugen would want to play anyway. Like her, they’re quick to decide they don’t like Akame-senpai very much. Unlike her, they’re less inclined to hide it. They make snarky comments about their lack of training between these D-ranks the older shinobi call ‘gaining experience’. Akame-senpai shushes them with little threats, but nothing quite like the one Sakura received. She really must have crossed a line, then. 

Her teammates are talking about her now, as if she isn’t right there. This isn’t anything new to her, so she leaves them to it.

“When do you think they’ll throw her out there?” Ryugen says. From the corner of her eye, she sees him shoot her a disdainful look. “She’s not left the village yet. Look at her, you can tell.”

“Not long now,” Kaiza says, scrubbing away at the floor with more aggression than it needs. 

Akame-senpai tells them to quiet. They shoot him dirty looks behind his back. Ryugen mocks senpai, pretending to fumble about blindly. Kaiza stifles a laugh. Sakura focuses on wiping the windowsills up high and low. She pretends it’s good practice for her chakra control. She pretends this is training. It helps a little.

“These D-ranks. They’re nice. No chance of anyone getting hurt,” Ryugen says after a while. “Kind of pointless to, but I’m hoping it lasts a little longer.”

Kaiza shakes his head. “Not likely. Kaa-san says we’re here till the next bunch of injured genin roll in. Akame-senpai too— he’s just waiting for another chunin to kick him out of rest and back into duty.”

Akame-senpai shushes them again, and there is an edge of warning this time. They both ignore him.

“’Rest’,” Ryugen deadpans. “D-ranks aren’t rest.”

“Someone’s got to do them, I guess,” Kaiza says, shrugging. “Not enough newbies like Haruno.”

“They should send _her_ out there,” Ryugen huffs.

“You said she graduated a few days ago. She’s too new,” Kaiza says, rolling his eyes. “They waited like two weeks before they sent me out.”

“Haruno’s not going to be a newbie forever,” Ryugen grumbles. He looks pointedly at the brace around Kaiza’s leg. “We need rest more than she does. We’re injured too.”

Kaiza hums, saying again, “Someone’s got to fight out there.”

Ryugen looks her way once more. Sakura ducks her head the barest second too late. She catches a flash of teeth, an unpleasant sneer. “Haruno will volunteer. Won’t you, Haruno?”

“Can it, the both of you.” Akame-senpai walks up to them, arms crossed. “Don’t you have bird shit to clean?”

“Don’t you have a team to train?” Ryugen returns smoothly, looking up at senpai with a challenge in his eyes. “Fair enough you got us doing D-ranks for that ‘experience’ bullshit, but you’re here with a job to do too. You’ve not taught us a thing since we got lumped with you.”

“It’s the other way around. I’m the one that's been saddled with you kids,” Akame-senpai says, voice low. “Fine. You want training? Hurry up and clean the aviary.”

Kaiza clears his throat, raising his hand. “Respectfully, senpai… you said something similar yesterday.”

“Insolent brats,” Akame-senpai says, gritting his teeth now. “Didn’t you say you were injured? That you wanted rest? You want training now too?”

“B-but,” Ryugen splutters, “But you’re injured too! And you’re training!”

Akame-senpai stalks towards Ryugen. Sakura busies herself with wiping pigeonholes, like she doesn't see any of this happening. She hears senpai say leadingly, “I am your assigned leader and you will treat me with due respect. You will not question me. Or do you really feel that strongly about your training?”

“I do! We both do!”

“So you _do_ feel you’re in fighting shape?” There is an edge of warning in his voice. The meaning in his words are not lost on any of them.

“ _No!_ No— no I don’t,” Ryugen says immediately. Sakura can’t help peeking at them again. Her teammates look pale. Kaiza is withering under senpai’s one-eyed stare, sponges and buckets of soapy water forgotten. He says, _I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t do it. My leg— I can’t run yet…_

Akame-senpai tells them to quiet again, and they finally do. But it is not enough. The next morning, both her teammates are gone.

\--

“Right. Kid’s all yours,” Akame-senpai says, nudging Sakura forward like yesterday’s doggy bag. He walks away almost immediately, offering a mindless wave, back hunched. “See you if I see you, Yuuhi.” 

“Aren’t you going to—” Yuuhi-san – senpai trails off, eyes narrowing in confusion. She sighs then, closing her eyes for a moment before peering down at Sakura. She looks patient. Kind. But her red eyes remind Sakura of Uchihas and how they are better than her. Sakura’s shoulders tense.

“Hello,” Yuuhi-san says. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Already, she is different from Akame-senpai, but Sakura isn’t sure if this is a good thing yet. _Introduction_ , she hears. She belatedly remembers to stand up straight. She roves over a mental list of things Suzume-sensei says merits a good introduction, and crosses them off one by one.

She needs to stick to this, now. Her first meeting with Akame-senpai was an epic disaster. She had five days with him. They ended up cycling through another pair of older genin. Same as before, Akame-senpai sent them away the moment they demanded training from him. He turned to her after that, patted her on the head and said she’s doing great. He told her he would uphold his end of the deal. Find her a new senpai. She just needs to be good.

She’s trying to be, but fear is running rampant. This might be her last chance to get some training in before—

“You’ve not got a fighting chance,” Akame-senpai said. She tries to banish the thought. She feels her knees weaken despite herself. Sakura hopes it doesn’t show.

“Sakura Haruno. Genin. Registration number oh-one-two-six-oh-one. My old sensei says I have above-average chakra control. She says I might be a genjutsu type, but I’ve never learned any so I don’t know. Sensei also says I’m really bad with shurikenjutsu. Akame-senpai also says I’m not very fast or very strong—” she stops, when it dawns on her that really, there isn’t much she has to offer. She can see it on Yuuhi-san’s shrinking smile too. Sakura smacks her lips and says, “I’m— I’m sorry if I’m not very good, Yuuhi-senpai.”

There is a peculiar look on the woman’s face. Her red-painted lips settle into a frown. After too long a silence, Yuuhi-senpai says, “If we’re going to be working together, Sakura-chan, we’ll need to get to know each other a little better than that.”

Sakura flinches, her mind racing for what she might have missed in her speech.

Yuuhi-senpai looks sad, now. She says gently, “What are your hobbies, Sakura-chan? What is your favourite food? Your favourite colour?”

“Um, I—… Red.” Sakura’s eyes shoot off into the busy street. She feels strange— somewhere between doubtful and hopeful. A small part of her insists that Yuuhi-san’s kindness must be a front. A test, of some sort, but she knows really it can’t be. No one is around to care for such things anymore. Sakura is a genin and there are no more tests to take, at least not for a long time.

No one has thought to call Sakura by her first name in so long, much less cared to ask what her favourite things might be. She feels her heart hurt and soar all at once. She has yet to see if Yuuhi-senpai would train her, but she is nice, and that is enough for her to be the best thing to have happened to Sakura in a while.

Yuuhi-senpai smiles again patiently. “My favourite colour is red too. I think we’ll get along really well, Sakura-chan. But please, call me Kurenai-senpai. Yuuhi-senpai reminds me too much of my father… And at ease, please. There’s really no need for that sort of formality with me.” 

Kurenai-senpai has a fading gash across her cheek, and a sling over her shoulder to prop her wrapped arm. Underneath it all, Sakura sees a pretty, young woman, with pretty, long hair, and pretty, long eyelashes. 

“Sorry, Kurenai-senpai,” Sakura says. She commits herself to remembering her first name. She owes her that much.

The woman leads them off somewhere. Sakura trails slightly behind her, and notices that Kurenai-senpai has a slight limp to add to her list of injuries. Sakura asks, “Does it hurt? Akame-senpai said his eye— or where his eye was, hurt a lot.”

Kurenai-senpai tilts her head, considering. “It doesn’t hurt enough that my performance is impaired by much. I am sure I would have been allocated time off, otherwise.”

Sakura knows that isn’t true; she wonders if Kurenai-senpai is lying, or if she truly believes it. Sakura thinks of Kaiza and how he needed to sit every so often and prop his leg up because it hurt too much. She thinks of Akame-senpai and how he still misses his targets sometimes, even now as he is called back into duty. She thinks of Ryugen and the burn that still looked warm on his skin. Sakura doesn’t say any of this out loud, of course. 

Really, there are more things than not that just shouldn’t be said out loud anymore. Sakura wonders at that.

“Where are we going?” she says instead, after too much quiet.

“We are collecting your teammates,” senpai says, glancing her way. “And then we’ll do a little team-building activity, and then we’ll spar a little so we can see what we are working with. How does that sound?”

It sounds wonderful. Training. A nice senpai. Her questions answered— however misguidedly. It’s better than anything Akame-senpai offered, or anything Suzume-sensei prepared her for. A part of her is hesitant to believe this is happening; it really is becoming too good to be true. She doesn’t trust her voice to betray anything. Sakura hopes her eyes convey her appreciation. 

They pick up their second teammate from the hospital. The reception room is a buzzing, frantic hive of activity. People are cramped on hard plastic chairs, holding on to worn tickets, waiting for their number to be called. Civilians, with civilian doctors and nurses rushing about. Some are reading off clipboards, others wheeling patients in and out through double doors. And then there are not-doctors, just as haggard and pale. Uniformed, with gauntlets. Their forehead protectors gleam under the harsh white lights, unscratched, but dirtied anyway with— blood, Sakura realises belatedly.

“Medic-nin,” Kurenai-senpai supplies, following her gaze. “They’re shinobi too, but they specialise in healing.”

“But— the doctors?”

“Doctors aren’t trained to heal shinobi, Sakura-chan,” Kurenai-senpai says regretfully. “They can help, with dressing wounds. Or sometimes, diagnostics. But shinobi and civilians generally don’t— don’t mix.”

Kurenai-senpai leaves her for a moment to speak to the receptionist. Without her senpai as a shield, Sakura feels eyes on her from all around almost immediately. She hunches slightly, her gaze landing on off-white linoleum. There are scratches about the floor that Sakura knows are kunai marks, and suspicious stains a little further from her line of sight. She tries not to wonder what those could be. The smell of chemicals is almost pungent. She thinks Kiba would absolutely hate being here. Sakura starts to hear whispers, some staged, others, carelessly loud:

“She’s so little! How adorable!”

“Another child?”

“She’s awfully skinny—"

“How cute is she!”

“She’ll not last long. Did you hear what happened to Matsuri’s boy?—”

A masked shinobi stationed in the corner of the room facing the entrance shushes them. The effect is immediate. Suddenly, Sakura can make out the sound of a pen scratching on paper, someone chewing a wad of gum, the faint warble of a radio. Sakura looks up again. All eyes are decidedly looking anywhere else. 

A feminine hand lands on her shoulder, and she nearly jolts before realising it’s Kurenai-senpai. Sakura idly registers the smoothness of her hand. Well-manicured nails. Shimmering red nail polish to match her painted lips. Sakura wonders at exactly what kind of shinobi Kurenai-senpai must be. A shinobi’s best weapon is their hands, after all. And one is broken into a cast and sling. She meets Kurenai-senpai’s red gaze (there really is so much red), unsure what to feel. 

“Come on, Sakura-chan. Let’s go meet Tenten.”

Tenten is a girl about her age, if not a little older. She has brown eyes and hair, pulled back into neat buns. She sits dutifully by a teenaged boy in a chunin vest. He doesn’t look so great, with dark rings under his eyes and a sickly look about him. A medic-nin leaves the room with a promise to bring back papers of some sort.

Kurenai-senpai raps at their open door for politeness’ sake. “Hayate. It’s good to see you.”

He smiles up at her. It does nothing for how tired he looks. “Hey, Kurenai. Been back long?”

“About a day,” Kurenai-senpai says. “Have you seen the weather lately?”

“Madness,” Hayate agrees, rising a little up off the bed to rest on one forearm. “Look at the trees. Leaves are falling. Branches burning. Roots are showing.”

“The village needs some sun,” Kurenai-senpai says, tucking his foot under a blanket. “Maybe, soon.”

“Through all this smoke?” Hayate says. “It’ll be a long while yet.”

He erupts into a fit of wet coughs. Tenten is ready with a tissue. 

“— Thanks, Tenten,” he wheezes. The tissue comes away from his mouth bloody. Nobody addresses it. He looks out the window and says, “How’s Kakashi been? I hear he's raising all hell.”

“He’s…” Kurenai-senpai stops, looking pointedly at Tenten. She, like Sakura, is watching with open curiosity. “Shall we introduce ourselves first?”

Hayate hums, gravelly. “Tenten, this is Kurenai. Your new senpai.”

Tenten looks completely unsurprised by the topic change. She slides off the plastic chair noiselessly, feet light as they touch ground. She sinks into a short bow with a succinct, “Please look after me, senpai. I’ll do my best for us all to work together.” She straightens and offers a handshake. Sakura notices she is missing one finger.

Kurenai-senpai pretends not to notice, shaking her hand delicately. “I’m sure we’ll all get along well.” She nudges Sakura out from hiding behind her legs. “This is Sakura, your new teammate. Why don’t you two go and get to know each other? You can get something from the vending machine.” She offers them some coins. 

“Okay. We’ll let you have your grown-up talk,” Tenten says with an understanding nod. “Do you want us to tell the nurse also, if we see her?”

Hayate looks almost exasperated. “Tenten, you can’t keep announcing when people have private conversations.”

“I’ll just shut the door, then.” Tenten shrugs. She then latches on to Sakura’s arm tightly and tugs her out. “Come on! They sell fizzy grape juice. It’s really yummy!”

Sakura has no choice but to tag along. Tenten chats away a mile a minute, and Sakura is left scrambling to keep up. Tenten has been a genin for almost a year now. Sakura looks new. Is she new? She must be. Is Bekko-sensei still in the Academy? He was Tenten’s sensei before she graduated. Tenten has just come back from Suna. She was there for a while. It was super hot there, but she’s gotten a really neat tan! She’s glad to be back though, even for a little bit. Does Sakura know how long we’ve got Kurenai-senpai for? She seems nice, Kurenai-senpai. Sakura seems nice too, if only just a little shy. Has her hair always been pink? It’s really pretty! 

Sakura contributes short responses in between Tenten’s questions, but she’s more distracted by how in between the chatter, Tenten’s hand recurrently hovers over her weapons holster. Sakura thinks it must be unconscious. Tenten’s eyes flit about all the doors and windows they pass too, tensing each time. It is at odds with the cheery mood she's projecting. 

Tenten says, “It’ll be nice to have teammates again. I’ll miss Hayate-senpai, though. He’s really nice. We worked together for a few months. He taught me how to use tanto and kusari-fundo!”

“What happened to your old teammates?” Sakura finds herself asking.

Tenten chooses this moment to chug down her grape juice. It is with some struggle. The pause grows long and awkward; it becomes increasingly apparent to Sakura that Tenten is trying to stall. Just as Sakura is about to tell Tenten she doesn’t have to say anything, the older girl says, “One of them died. The other’s missing. I think he’s dead too.”

Sakura exhales. “Oh.”

“It’s okay. Happens a lot,” Tenten says, pulling the tab off her can with more concentration than it needs. “Hayate-senpai almost died too. There were lots of— there were puppets. Puppets are scary. And poison everywhere. And he and a lot of the others, they were up front and they breathed it in… They got the worst of it. One of the big commanders told me to seal him and the others up. I was little enough no one really looked when they fought. He said to run. So I ran, for as long and as fast as I could. It was scary. Some Konoha shinobi found me at one of the borders. I— I made it.”

Sakura’s grape juice suddenly tastes yucky. She focuses on the fizzy, popping noise it makes. She says, “I think you’re really brave.”

Tenten’s eyes are looking far away. “Hayate-senpai’s got a bad cough now. He says he doesn’t think it’s going to go away. One of the medics say that this sort of stuff needs Tsunade Senju. She's a legendary healer. But nobody knows where she is.” And then, she grins far too widely to be natural. “But he’s not dead and I’m not dead, so I did good, and that’s good.”

Sakura’s eyes rove over Tenten once. “Are you— injured?”

“I’ll not be sent back for about another week, if that’s what you mean,” Tenten says defensively, “They can’t do that.” 

But Sakura knows this isn't true. She wishes she is brave enough to say so.

Tenten continues, “I’m still getting better from a poison nobody knows anything about. And chakra exhaustion. Tsunade Senju used to always go around saying ‘Broken bones can be mended, wounds stitched up, and lungs saved from drowning. But if you’re exhausted, you can only rest’.”

Sakura asks, “What happened to Tsunade Senju? How come nobody knows where she is?”

Tenten says, “She lost people in the war.” 

Sakura bites her lip to stop herself from saying anything about that.

 _It’s sedition_.

The older girl seems not to notice. “Hey, I hope our last teammate is as nice as you. I’ve met some real jerks out there. This is really nice.”

It really is. Sakura returns Tenten's smile a lot more easily this time. 

“Do you think we’ll be sent out with Kurenai-senpai?” Sakura asks, staring at the closed door hiding the adults.

“Well, it depends,” Tenten says, blinking. “If she’s ready when we are, then yeah. If not… Hayate-senpai said teams used to be made up of people who would work together best. Now it’s more about who’s left to do the job. Some stick around for a little while like Hayate-senpai. Others just sort of end up looking the same to me.” She offers Sakura a tentative smile. “But I’ve got a real good feeling about this team. I’ve never met a non-Uchiha with red eyes! Or someone with pink hair! I think we’ll get along great!” 

Sakura tugs at her sleeve. “Do we— do we get to come back sometimes?”

Tenten’s eyes travel elsewhere. Her smile slips. “Not really. Not us. We stay out there till they tell us we can go home for a little bit. But that could take forever. Or we stay out there until we get die or get hurt. Getting badly hurt is the only sure way to come back these days.”

 _Not us_. But Ino's dad and Kiba's mum got to go home. They are important, after all. Sakura wonders what this means for her mama and papa. They used to come home too, though they never stayed for nearly as long as Ino's dad does. Just hours at a time. Does this mean then, maybe, they're sort of important? Or is it something else? And if they aren’t home, does this mean they are alive? Fighting? Does this mean they aren’t hurt? Or is it something much worse? Sakura doesn’t dare think any more beyond this. 

“But nobody rests,” Sakura says instead. “Not really.”

“Of course not,” Tenten says, and her grin is all teeth again, but doesn’t reach her eyes. “If you’re injured but well enough to help, you’ve got to help. You know how it goes with the genin and the chunin.”

“And the jonin?”

Tenten shakes her head. “There are some around the village, here and there. But mostly they’re too important to spare. If the ones out there come back at all, they have to leave even quicker than we do."

“I wish we were important,” Sakura says, thinking of Kiba's older sister and how she's at home looking after Akamaru. “So we don’t have to go.”

“But someone else would have to,” Tenten says, crunching the empty tin can under her fist. “If not you, always someone else… How long have you been a genin, again?”

“Almost a week,” Sakura supplies.

“There’ll be genin newer than you, soon,” Tenten says wonderingly. “I heard a commander talking about how the Academy’s just spitting out genin these days. Weird. Apart from you, I've never really seen them.”

\--

On their way to the Mission Assignment Building, a boy steps out of the shadows to stop them.

“Kurenai Yuuhi,” he says, almost too quietly. “I have been assigned to your care.”

Kurenai-senpai raises an eyebrow. “I’ve arranged to collect my third kohai elsewhere. I’m sorry, but from the files I’ve received, you don’t look a thing like him.”

“I understand your doubts, but I have proof,” he says. From deep pockets he produces a scroll and an identity tag. Sakura can’t help but notice his gloved hand is trembling slightly. “It’s true, you were supposed to pick up the other genin, but he’s no longer available. I have only just returned from outside the village, and I’ve been slotted to join your team in his stead, at least for a while.”

“Shino Aburame,” Kurenai-senpai reads out loud, her eyes lifting from the document to scrutinise him further. She looks confused. “Shibi Aburame’s son?” When Shino nods his head once in acknowledgment, she blinks twice and presses, “The _heir_?”

Sakura follows senpai in her study. Any Aburame she knows from Suzume-sensei’s class is always quiet, but not shy. They stand, welcome amongst the Uchihas and the Hyugas, looking down at her regardless how tall they are. They can certainly lift their chins high enough. Every Aburame she knows covers themselves from head to toe. Kiba told her it’s because they have a nest of secrets crawling in their skin: swarms of bugs that do anything from collecting pollen, to helping them fly, to eating the flesh of their enemies.

Kiba also said the clans aren’t necessarily better than her. She has yet to believe that, but from what Kiba told her she can say with full certainty, they are at least scarier. 

Shino isn't so scary, though. Like his clansmen, Shino covers every inch of his skin. Gloves, goggles, a large hood and a high-collared coat that must be too warm, in this weather. But that is where the comparison ends. He doesn’t stand nearly as confidently: his hands are shoved in front pockets to hide his slouch. He seems almost unsure, rather than shy. The barest glimpse of his face shows he is nearly too pale— like he sits in shadows a lot. Sakura gathers the impression that despite his clan’s status as powerful predators, somehow, he is prey. 

He is quiet for too long, but a loaded energy begins to buzz about him. Kurenai-senpai puts her hand on Tenten’s shoulder to stop her from tensing. He says, voice thick, “You are mistaken.”

“I’m sorry. You understand, as much as I would like to believe you, I need to clear this with the right channels,” Kurenai-senpai says, offering him the documents again. He doesn’t take them. “You’re a bit too high-profiled for— someone like me.” Her last words are said just before the briefest glance down at Sakura and Tenten. But Sakura is there to meet her red eyes, and she hides how her smile thins bitterly.

“I understand your concerns,” Shino says in a way that almost reminds Sakura of how Suzume-sensei would orate her speeches. Only his words seem to carry an undertone of— despair? Sakura isn’t too sure. He pulls a crinkled slip out of his pocket this time. “I have the appropriate signatures authorising this. Will that of one of the Konoha elders suffice?”

Sakura’s brow furrows. He really has said this once or twice before. She wonders who wrote this script for him.

As far as Sakura can tell, Kurenai-senpai is looking increasingly worried. She spares only a glance at the signed sheet, but the effect is palpable. Kurenai-senpai blanches, and she looks down to him again. Her back is rigid, but her eyes are mercurial, her jaw slackening and tightening. Her hand withdraws from Tenten to perch on Shino’s shoulder.

“Look at me, Shino-kun,” she says softly.

The boy seems to struggle between being brave and being scared. His back hunches inward, but he tries his best to meet Kurenai-senpai’s gaze. Sakura wishes she could understand what is happening, but the moment is gone too quick. Tenten peers between them both, her gaze bright and curious.

“Is he our teammate then, senpai?”

Kurenai-senpai breaths in deeply, and then exhales, slowly, slowly. It reminds Sakura of mama’s calming breaths. Kurenai-senpai opens her eyes, a tired smile settling on her mouth.

“Welcome to the team.”

\--

Kurenai-senpai is everything Sakura hopes she would be. Kindness, amongst all the bullies Sakura has met. Patience, against the racing clock that would be their week. A breath of fresh air, in the smoke-infested sky.

They squeeze in training between the D-ranks. Moments, in between the training. 

Kurenai-senpai would reach for Shino from where he would hide under trees. Shino is a complicated boy; he would talk in tongues like Neji, about how life or this or that is like a bug he’s studied. Sakura would try her best to understand. Kurenai-senpai would say for her and Tenten to be nice to him. It’s not so hard. If anything, it’s easy. He’s not mean, just— sad. Sakura is happy to have gained a friend in him and Tenten. Sakura wishes he would be happy. 

Kurenai-senpai wishes the same for him too, but would look sad for him, more often than not. She tries to hide it, but Sakura sees it in her half-smiles and downcast eyes. Kurenai-senpai would try to help him anyway: she would ask him how his morning was, his favourite food, his favourite insect. She would ask him to please explain chakra exercises that Tenten or Sakura don’t understand, because he’s very smart, and teammates should always help each other out. It's things like this that makes Sakura think that if Kurenai-senpai ever wanted to be a sensei, she would be a great one.

Kurenai-senpai helps Shino with training too. She encourages Shino to use his kikaichu to detect genjutsu of all sorts, and break them, if he can. He is better at this than he initially lets on.

She would teach Sakura to layer genjutsu over little things— the size of rocks, the height or distance of branches, the speed of the current down the river— with the challenge of using the barest ounce of chakra, so hardly anyone can detect it. It would be a difficult exercise, but Kurenai-senpai would offer high-fives when she succeeds. She would explain how this training helps build Sakura's chakra pool, since it’s only so little. Sakura would lament at that for a minute, but Kurenai-senpai would say that not being naturally great at something should never stop anyone from trying at all. Sakura takes these words to heart.

“Diversion is a clever game, Sakura-chan, and you're a clever girl,” she would say. “If you can make them fumble, for even just one second, a second might be all you need.”

“You think—” Sakura would start, eyes glimmering. “You think I have a chance?”

“Of course you do,” Kurenai-senpai would say. She doesn’t understand why Sakura would tackle her into a hug there and then. She would return the hug anyway. They fit. Sakura and Kurenai-senpai and Shino and Tenten. 

– Even if sometimes, the fit is clunky at best. Like when Tenten would learn that Kurenai-senpai’s hands are smooth because she doesn’t traditionally wield weapons. Kurenai-senpai is a shinobi specialising in espionage and genjutsu, after all. Kurenai-senpai would try her best anyway: she would teach Tenten how to fashion fancy-looking, spirally seals and scrolls other than Body Scrolls. Within days, Tenten would seal away volatile bombs and explosive tags in scrolls with confidence.

And when Tenten would start to feel faint from the remnants of poison and exhaustion in her system, Kurenai-senpai would sit her down and call break early. She would let them take turns choosing which restaurant to eat at. And while the D-ranks have offered Sakura a chance to earn some money for herself, Kurenai-senpai would always foot the bill.

“It’s my job to look after you,” she would say. “So please, let me.”

She would try.

\--

The front door is unlocked again. At first, Sakura reminds herself this hardly means anything: she’s just forgotten to lock up again, that’s all. But then, she notices the lights are on inside. They’re peeking through the window, behind a closed curtain. Her heart rushes to her ears, pounding quickly. She hopes and hopes and hopes—

The pile of mail is gone. The dust collecting on the sideboard is wiped away. One pair of house slippers is missing too. Sakura races down the hallway, nearly tripping in her desperation. At the end of the hallway—

“Papa! Papa, you’re home!” She says, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. He’s kneeling down with arms around her. Sakura really can’t hold on to him any tighter; she tries her hardest anyway. 

“Sakura,” he breathes into her hair. “Sakura, let me look at you.”

He pulls away slightly, her eyes darting everywhere about her; the sandals on her feet, the uniform just about hanging off her shoulders, the wraps around her wrists. He almost meets her eyes again, but his gaze is caught elsewhere. The new metal, sitting across her forehead. Standing so close, she sees it in his eyes: the metal glinting from the ceiling light. Papa’s smile seems to crack.

He doesn’t say anything for the longest time.

“… Papa, are you okay?”

He hugs her again, almost too tightly. He’s warm. Sakura’s eyes flutter shut. She tries her best to remember this. Mama and papa have been gone away far too long.

“Where’s mama?”

Her papa pulls away again. He attempts the worst smile she has ever seen him wear. “She’s not here, Sakura. It’s just me, today.”

She feels something tighten in her chest. “… Just today?”

Right then, it occurs to Sakura that this reunion is nothing like she imagined it to be. It’s tinged with an air that tastes like sadness. But this can’t be right; she’s supposed to be happy papa is home at all. Papa is supposed to be happy to see her. And yet...

“Are you injured?” she asks, eyes roaming about him, because something must be wrong.

“Sakura, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” she says, brow furrowing. Genin only come home when they’re injured.

“The Hokage allowed for your mama and I to come home sometimes to check up on you. Quick visits. You’re only a child, after all. But it was a lot harder this time to come home. I see why now. You—” he says, eyes flashing with some unknown emotion. “You’re not a child anymore.”

“Papa, of course I’m still a kid,” Sakura says, tilting her head up at him. “Are you saying you—… papa, won’t I see you anymore? What about mama?”

“Sakura, please take that headband off.” His voice is strained.

She does as he asks, but doesn't understand why she has to. Her forehead feels all too bare, suddenly. His eyes follow the material, his shoulders tense. Sakura has to pocket it before he lets himself breathe again.

“Sakura, all shinobi are legal adults under Konoha law,” he says, stumbling into the kitchen with his head in his hands. “As a genin, that means you are now too.”

“But that’s silly,” Sakura says, following after him. She feels her heart climbing up in her throat again. It's a little hard to speak for a moment. She notices belatedly, the kitchen is immaculate again. The ripped clothes she never tidied, cleared away. The bin emptied, the countertops wiped. There are groceries of all sorts peeking from bags: fruit and vegetables, rice and beans. 

But Sakura is soon to march out of the village with her team. 

Most of this food will spoil.

“Sakura, I need to—” he stops, looking at her again after the longest while. He places his hands on her shoulders and kisses her forehead. And this feels all too familiar. He says, “Don’t worry. I’ll speak to the Hokage. I’ll make him see.”

Sakura’s hands grab hold of her papa’s arms, her eyes wide. “No. _No_. No, don’t—”

Papa says, “I’ll be right back, Sakura.”

But she’s heard this before.

“— _no_. No. Don’t leave,” Sakura is saying brokenly. She tries her hardest to scramble for a hold of papa but he’s quick and careful enough in pulling away. “Papa, please.”

Papa doesn’t come home.


	5. Chapter 5

The glass panel is immaculate. Through it, Sakura sees a room with no windows. Bare, except for a metal sink, shower hose, lots of drains. In the centre, there’s a man, sitting limply on a metal chair. His hands are cuffed behind him, his head lolling forward. His eyes are covered by a stained rag of a blindfold. His shoulders hardly move as he draws in breaths— shallow and sharp. She hears them from the speakers on her side. It’s not a pleasant noise.

Beside her, the Uchiha policeman adjusts his goggles. It’s a strange sort of armour. He says he’s got sensitive eyes. Kurenai-senpai disagrees though: she says good-naturedly, while they were growing up, Obito Uchiha was just a big cry baby. 

Sakura doesn’t laugh along with her, her eyebrows knitting together instead. She can’t imagine that once it might’ve been okay for a shinobi to cry. Obito says he wears his goggles out of habit now, more than anything else. She doesn’t understand why. His eyes, although dark, are lively and expressive. They are the only reason she notices that the smiles he wears carry a bit of sadness with them. Sakura thinks maybe it’s because he’s bound to his wheelchair, but that can't be right; he manoeuvres about with such skill. 

All she knows is, he’s not at all like any of the Uchihas she has met before. He greeted her kindly at the reception desk. He calls her Sakura-chan. And the way he talks with Kurenai-senpai, it’s like they’re long time friends. Sakura thinks she likes him a lot. 

It is for this reason she tries to keep her eyes on his face when she turns to look at him. Staring at his missing leg would be discourteous. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Sakura asks.

Obito offers her a lopsided grin. “He’s— he’s just a little sleepy, that’s all.”

“Honestly,” Kurenai-senpai huffs at Obito. She turns to Sakura and says, “He’s being kept lucid, Sakura-chan. He would be dangerous otherwise.”

“But—,” Sakura starts, her brows furrowing in confusion. “We’re in Konoha Military Police Force building. Papa says it’s the safest place there is.”

“Dangerous for you, Sakura-chan,” Kurenai corrects softly. 

“Oh.”

Obito clears his throat, his eyes wandering about the room. He shuffles in his chair uncomfortably.

Sakura looks at the prisoner again and considers what it is she’s here to do. She says, “I don’t think this is a fair fight. It’s not a fight at all.”

“No, it isn’t,” Obito says, physically cringing at hearing his words. “But— you’re not here to fight. Not exactly comforting, but— I couldn’t wake him up if I wanted to, Sakura-chan. There’s some strict protocol for this sort of stuff.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Sakura reasons. “Especially not when he’s like this.”

Kurenai-senpai crouches down by her. “Sakura-chan, we talked about this.”

And they did. Sort of. Not at length. And certainly not long enough before this moment that Sakura had enough time to process any of it. Her mind is rushing all manner of thoughts in. She remembers lots of “it’s okay”s and “I’m here for you”s. She remembers Kurenai-senpai running her hand through her hair like mama does when she’s stressed. Like mama does when she doesn’t know the right words to say that won’t upset Sakura. Kurenai-senpai tried her best anyway.

She said, “This won’t be easy. The first kill is never easy. For most people, this might be one of the hardest things they will ever have to do. But if you can do it here, safely, within the walls of the village, then— perhaps, you might have time yet, to begin to reconcile with your role as a shinobi. Especially before you get sent out.”

“I know what being a shinobi means,” Sakura said then, eyes fierce. 

It means never being home. Making papa sad. Standing up straight. Getting back up after being knocked down. Wrapping her own wounds. 

Keeping her mouth shut about anything that mattered.

Kurenai-senpai looked very sad again. She said, “… In clans, children are raised to understand that death comes hand in hand with being a shinobi. That sometimes, it might mean dealing death with their own hands. People from small shinobi families, orphans and civilian-born children— people like me, you, and even Tenten, Sakura-chan— we’re not brought up in that way. And, no, it doesn’t make us any lesser than the clan children.” She said this pointedly, noticing Sakura’s narrowed eyes.

“People like us, Sakura-chan… We’re more inclined to hold on to other beliefs. We tend to want to believe that being a shinobi doesn’t mean we have to hurt anyone. I know I certainly did— and for the longest time too. I held on to the idea that defending one thing might not mean retaliating against another, or that saving one thing might not mean destroying something else— or even someone else… But sometimes, these beliefs are not so easy to uphold. It was difficult, but I’ve had to come to terms with this. Some days, it’s easy to wake up and accept this. Other times… I struggle. But I never struggle alone. And neither will you. It hurts me to say this, but we live in a time of war, Sakura-chan. There will come a time where you either have to kill or be killed.”

Once upon a time, Sakura met Ino and decided she wanted to become a shinobi. Ino is brave and smart and strong and so unlike anyone she’s ever met. At the time, the thought of being a shinobi was cool. Especially because someone like Ino would turn out to come from a shinobi clan, which means one day, she’ll be a shinobi too. They’d play pretend and go about on imaginary missions; they would sneak between amused vendors and their stalls in an imaginary race to buy hanami dango, or even chase after a harried cat called Tora that always seems to be running about the street. They would pretend they were heroes.

Ino says her dad is her hero, that he’s brave and strong too. But suddenly, Sakura finds herself wondering if he and Ino are all these things, not because they want to be, but because they have to be. 

Kill or be killed. Deep down, a part of Sakura has always known this to be true. It steeps in denial often. It stains her thoughts and keeps her awake at night. She would reach to ground these thoughts down into reality, but they would curl through her fingers and wisp like steam in cold air. 

– Until now. Reality spills over her like ice. 

Mizuki-sensei called it neutralising the enemy. Suzume-sensei called it defending the Will of Fire. But these are fancy words that dance around the truth. Between anatomy lessons, ingrained warnings to slash across eyes, and spars geared towards aiming for vulnerable areas like the throat or the Achilles tendon… Sakura suddenly realises that there really were more lessons geared towards offense than defence.

“Why can’t there be another way?” Sakura asked then. “One time, Ino-chan and I had a fight, and her mama made us sit down and talk it out. We talked about why we were angry and we said sorry and hugged and then we were okay.”

Kurenai-senpai bit her lower lip then, her eyes twinkling wetly. “Oh, Sakura-chan. It’s… complicated. You will understand when you’re older.”

That was only hours ago. And now Sakura is here as executioner. 

Sakura is thinking about this far more than she should. She pulls her kunai out her holster, very carefully now. It’s nothing like second nature to her yet. In fact, this is the first time she’s drawn it against an— enemy? Victim? Sakura doesn’t know what he is to her.

She remembers all too clearly, how sharp her kunai was when it sliced across her palm. How much it hurt. The man will inside the room will feel a lot more pain than her. This doesn’t sit right in her tummy. She’s glad she never had breakfast.

Sakura says evasively, “He’s not hurting anybody now.”

“He hurt people before, Sakura-chan,” Kurenai-senpai says gently. “That’s why he’s here.”

“What did he do?” she asks Obito.

He blanches. “I can’t tell you that, kiddo.”

Her brow furrows. “… Why can’t we keep him here?”

Kurenai-senpai breathes in deep, holds it in, and exhales slowly. “The war has gone on for years and years, Sakura-chan. The Military Police can’t keep every prisoner that’s brought in here. There would just be no room.”

“And we can’t let him go either,” Obito continues, fiddling with his goggles again. “Or he might hurt people again.”

“Is this why he’s on death row?” Sakura asks, bravely. Her voice is shakier than she likes. “Because he’s dangerous? Or is it because there’s no room?”

Kurenai-senpai does well not to react. Obito visibly flinches. It’s everything Sakura needs to know.

Kurenai-senpai told her that sometimes higher-ranking shinobi would take newly graduated genin here to kill the prisoners on death row, for all sorts of reasons. For practice. To take the edge off. To— make it easier, next time. Maybe.

Sakura is only reminded of how her classmates treated lives like numbers. But she shouldn’t think of that right now.

“Does it work?” Sakura asked her earlier. “Does it— help?”

Kurenai-senpai only offered a vague smile and a vague answer to match: “If you let me, I would like to prepare you in any way I can.” 

Looking up at Obito now, Sakura asks, “What’s his name?”

Obito rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I can’t give you that information, Sakura-chan. Prisoner records are top secret.”

Feeling even braver now, almost angry even, Sakura says, “You two brought me down here to kill him. But I don’t know what he did to make people want him dead. And you wont even tell me his name. And you still want me to kill him.”

“Sakura!” Kurenai-senpai admonishes, frowning. 

“If I kill him, I can’t take it back,” Sakura says heatedly. “People get sad when somebody dies. Who’s going to be sad when he dies? I don’t want to make anyone sad.”

Kurenai-senpai’s eyes flash dangerously. Her voice is brittle as she says, “Please, don’t be so disrespectful. We’re guests here.”

“It’s alright,” Obito says to Kurenai-senpai, chuckling awkwardly in an attempt to diffuse the charged air. And then to Sakura he says, eyes serious behind orange-tinted goggles, “Okay. Think about it like this: if someone stole something from you, wouldn’t you want to take it back?”

Sakura’s looks at him unhappily. “… Yes?”

“And if someone hurts you. Wouldn’t you want to hurt them back?”

Sakura exhales sharply, frowning. “No. I wouldn’t. It’s not nice.”

“But they weren’t nice to you either. They hurt you.”

Sakura argues, “Doesn’t mean I should hurt them back.”

Kurenai-senpai interjects softly, looking distressed again, “What if someone hurt you, and if you didn’t hurt them back, they would hurt everybody else? Even if it isn’t nice.”

"Then—” Sakura falters, already knowing where this is going. “Then I would have to stop them.”

Kill or be killed. She hates that the reality of it is settling in.

Kurenai-senpai says, “If you only hurt them a little, they’d get better soon enough that they can go back to hurting people again. You can’t let them keep hurting people. You have to stop them for good.” And then, guiltily, “I am so sorry that you even have to make this choice, Sakura-chan. You’re only so young. I just— I just wanted to prepare you. I’ve seen too many children freeze up mid-battle, because they can’t bring themselves to deal the final blow. They never make it. I don’t want that for you. I just… you might not see it now, but I’m only doing what I think is best for your chances out there.”

Sakura swallows. Her voice is thick with emotion. “I just want to know his name.”

Obito sighs deeply. “Trust me, it works out better you don’t know their name. It’s— it’s not great, knowing exactly who it is you killed. You start to try and figure out who they were. What they could’ve been. It’s not good for you.” His eyes land on his missing leg. “I had two teammates once. One of them— she stepped into our teammate’s line of fire. It killed her instantly. When I heard, it broke me. It was even worse for our teammate. He sees her ghost everywhere. To this day, when we meet up, there’s always that empty third chair where she should’ve been… You don’t want to know who you killed, Sakura-chan. You don’t want to go through that.”

Sakura’s stomach hardly settles from this— reassurance? Rather, a foul taste on her tongue begins to accompany it too.

She doesn’t have the right words to say to any of this, so she says nothing at all.

“If you really don’t want to do this, Sakura-chan,” Kurenai-senpai says hesitatingly. “I suppose we— we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Sakura’s eyes narrow. She finds herself angry again, at Kurenai-senpai and Obito for being right. At herself, for making things so difficult. Why is this so difficult?

She shakes her head, forcing herself to stand up straight. She remembers the same rule she spat at Akame-senpai, to always obey their superior. Sakura can’t just walk away from this, not when Kurenai-senpai is trying to help her, however harrowing it will be.

“No. No, I’ll do it,” Sakura says, voice tight. “It’s… it’s character building. That’s all.”

The adults look at her with equal parts of confusion and dawning dismay.

“Now, Sakura-chan, that’s not—” Obito starts. And then he looks at Kurenai-senpai pleadingly. “Kurenai, I swear they get younger every time they come here. I can’t—"

“I know,” Kurenai-senpai says quietly.

“I— I need to go back up to the reception desk,” Obito says, sounding almost strangled. “I’ve probably been away too long. Let me know when— you’re done.”

Sakura clutches onto her kunai like a lifeline— and in a way, it is. She doesn’t like any of this, but she can’t keep dodging the matter. She understands. 

She doesn’t want to die, so someone else has to.

Kill or be killed. 

Sakura withdraws into her head, shoving any semblance of a protesting thought into a growing pocket, deep in her mind. It keeps things that shouldn’t be said out loud. It keeps words and voices that used to sound like so many other people— her parents, or Ino, or Kiba, or Neji, or Tenten, or Suzume-sensei or anyone— but is starting to sound more and more like herself. Only she doesn’t remember sounding quite so angry.

Sometimes, Sakura would tell this voice to quiet.

Sometimes, it would whisper back. This voice is demanding, upset and frustrated. It tells Sakura that in the end, only she can look out for herself. It tells Sakura, if she is not careful, she is going to get hurt. It tells Sakura she is not as important to anyone else as she would like to think. There aren’t many people that will care if she gets hurt.

– Sakura should never have gone near that voice in her head. She fits herself in that pocket too, anyway. Somehow, it welcomes her like an old friend. It is so much better than the ugly world outside.

Switching off is terrifyingly easy.

She barely registers Obito handing Kurenai-senpai the key. 

She scarcely notices Kurenai-senpai worrying her lower lip, looking the guiltiest and the saddest Sakura might have ever seen her. Instead Sakura finds herself wishing Kurenai-senpai would stand up straight.

Her sandals clack noisily against the tiled floor as she enters the room. The blindfolded man inclines his head towards her: lucid, and conscious. Everything echoes too loudly. His voice is raspy when he says hello. Like he needs a tall glass of water. Like he’s not used his voice in a long time. It’s the last time he speaks.

Sakura drives the kunai up from underneath his jaw. Suzume-sensei says this is one way to do it. The weapon meets much less resistance than she expects. Her hand, tightly bound at the hilt of the kunai, only just grazes his skin. It’s clammy and cold but the red, red, red that trickles onto her fingers— it’s almost too hot.

“If not you, always someone else,” Tenten said once.

Sakura thinks she might’ve screamed.

She can’t remember.

\--

“— Mum’s even letting me help with customers now! She won’t let me work the cash register though. She says my maths isn’t good or quick enough to work out the right change the customers need, yet. Just as well, anyway. I wouldn’t want to hold up the queue. It’s been really busy in the flower shop. Mum says it’s business so that’s good for us, but most of the customers come in for funeral flowers, so that’s not so good. I got a new funeral dress though. I’ve got five now. Shika says they all look the same to him. But what does he know about fashion? He’s such a grumpy boy—"

When Ino glances her way every so often, Sakura offers her most attentive smile. She knows it fools neither one of them. Ino already asked if she is okay though. It is all too easy to say she missed her parents again. And she still does. 

But then, there’s other things too.

When Ino shouted for her attention from across the street, Sakura spent far longer than she should’ve considering if she should take to the rooftops. It would’ve hurt Ino, but the street was busy, and Sakura was far enough away that she might’ve gotten away with pretending she never heard her at all. It was one of her more shameful ideas, running away. But she’s put a stop to it now. She’s done it often enough. Really, Ino didn’t deserve it at all. Never has. Even now, she is showing nothing but care and kindness and concern, and she’s the best person Sakura knows. 

And yet. And _yet_ —

She remembers reading Ino’s letter all those weeks ago. Remembers how happy she is. Sakura held on to that as she slathered ointments on the scrapes and bruises from her classmates the day before. And she held on to that later, as she lost another spar and landed roughly on her chin. And she held on to that later yet, as she learned the Shinobi Code of Conduct so it might carry her through battle when it came down to it. Reading Ino’s letter was hard.

It was harder still, to listen as Ino tried knocking on her front door most mornings. Sakura would hate herself for never managing to muster enough courage to let her in. _It’s only Ino,_ she remembers thinking. _Ino is your best friend._ But Sakura would pretend nobody was home.

Seeing Ino sitting across from her now, bright-eyed and animated and happy to see her, Sakura feels like the worst person there is. She is happy that Ino is happy. But Sakura knows she can’t keep Ino happy forever. Sakura will leave and fight and die because she’s just no good at much of anything. And if Ino still cares about her as much as she does then— she’ll be so sad. She doesn’t want Ino to be sad.

Somehow, this is hardest.

There’s an awful feeling in Sakura, coiling tight, and threatening to unravel like a spring. She only worries what might set it off.

“— speaking of boys. _Oh_ , Sakura-chan! You should’ve seen Sasuke-kun! You’d have been smitten! He’s all sassy, and his hair sticks up at the back all funny, but he’s got the sweetest smile! I’ve not seen him since, though. It’s a shame, but mum says Lady Uchiha tries to keep him hidden if she can help it.”

Sakura looks up at that. “Why?”

Ino rolls her shoulders. “Well, Uchiha-sama has got two boys. But the eldest is off fighting. That means Sasuke-kun must be the heir.”

Sakura points out, “But your mum doesn’t keep you hidden, and you’re an heir.”

“And Shikamaru, and Choji,” Ino agrees with a nod. “But the village likes us. They don’t like the Uchihas much. Anyway, mum says the heirs don’t get to fight out there. She says it’s ‘insurance’, but I feel like that makes us all sound like backup. I don’t want to be backup! If you’re fighting out there, then I want to fight too! It’s so unfair! I can’t believe you’re a genin already!”

“… it’s not a competition, Ino-chan,” Sakura says as mildly as she can manage. Her smile is now straining against her cheeks. Underneath the table, her hands ball into fists.

Ino rolls her eyes. “Of course, it isn’t. I just feel left behind, that’s all.”

Calming breaths. Sakura breaths in as deeply as she can manage while being subtle. Ino’s eyes catch her shoulders rising and falling anyway. Sakura says, “You’re here, with Shikamaru, and Choji.” _And all the other heirs,_ she almost says. She continues, “You’re not being left behind, you’re being kept safe.”

“And who will keep you safe?” Ino asks, eyebrow raised in challenge.

Papa said once, “Not everyone is important.”

Sakura sees that now. 

“Sakura…” Ino says. She sounds worried, sorry, upset— all of it.

She must’ve been quiet for too long, again. Still, her thoughts are elsewhere.

While Sakura is going off to war tomorrow, and Ino will be growing daisies in the flower shop.

She doesn’t resent Ino for it in the least. She’s so glad to see Ino is happy. She’s gotten a little taller. She seems to be growing her hair out too, because it doesn’t rest at her chin like it used to. Her nails are painted a glittery pink. And when Ino hugged her tightly earlier, because it really has been too long— Ino’s hands are smooth. Heiress to the Yamanaka clan or not, the Ino sitting in her kitchen today is not a shinobi. Not like Sakura. 

And Sakura wouldn’t dare wish the circumstances were in any way different:

Tenten said, “If not you, always someone else.”

She thinks of the dead man she left bleeding in the prison. 

“… Sakura?”

“Tea,” she says abruptly. She jumps off the dining chair to fumble about the kitchen. “I’ll make us tea. Do you want anything?”

“Sakura—”

“— I don’t know what we have in the cupboards though,” Sakura says, borderline babbling. She feels ill, suddenly. “I’ll need to check.”

The chair scrapes against the floor, and Ino is in front of her soon after. She says, a look of concern settling in her features, “Sakura, you know you can tell me anything.”

Her green eyes meet pupil-less blue ones. She remembers Neji.

“I wish you would learn to accept your fate,” he said.

Sakura thinks of dying, and how upset mama and papa and Ino would be. 

“Ino-chan,” she says with a tight smile, her tone horribly artificial. “I don’t have a lot of time left in the village. Can we talk about something else, please?”

They have a long stare down. 

Ino eventually huffs, crossing her arms and frowning deeply. She says, “I’m trying to look out for you. You just need to let me.”

Sakura keeps her smile. “Is Oolong okay?”

Ino’s eyes narrow. Her lips purse into a tight line. And then, “… That’s fine by me. What snacks have you got? I guess I am kind of hungry.”

She inwardly breathes out a long sigh of relief. Over the dribbling noise of the kettle filling slowly, Sakura says, “I should’ve offered you food, earlier. Mama would hate that I’m being such a bad host. I just— I didn’t think you’d be here long. I don’t have much to talk about.”

To Sakura’s back, Ino says, “Are you kidding? I’ve not seen you for over a month now! I don’t care how much you have to talk about. I missed you.”

Sakura’s returning smile is wobbly. “I missed you too.”

The hand on her shoulder is unexpected. In hindsight, it’s obviously Ino. Her hand is warm. But all this does is remind her of a once-alive lucid man with blood too warm and skin too cold. She nearly drops the kettle. Splashes of water land between them both. Ino pulls her hand away just as quick, cradling it in her other hand, close to her chest like— like a secret weapon. But that’s not the right comparison: Ino looks guilty all of a sudden, eyes darting between Sakura and the puddles on the floor. She asks, “… Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s fine,” Sakura says instead, fixing the smile back on her face. She’s careful about turning her back to Ino again. “The water’s not boiled.”

“That’s not what I—” Ino bites her lip. Sakura eyes the movement, and is reminded of Kurenai-senpai. Ino backtracks, saying almost too carefully, “Did your mum show you how to work the stove? That’s really neat. Mum doesn’t want me anywhere near it.”

“… The kettle’s electric.”

“Oh."

“See? There’s… there’s a tab, and a pad—”

“Oh,” Ino says lamely, to Sakura’s profile. “Oh, I see.”

The kettle hisses through the silence. Sakura meets Ino’s eyes again, and immediately notices she still looks worried. Sakura’s head starts to pound a little with her racing thoughts. This isn’t good.

“Sakura…”

“Snacks!” Sakura says hastily, snapping her fingers. She side-steps around Ino, pushing forward the footstool papa bought for her. Sakura climbs onto the countertop. It’s sticky and gritty again, with remnants of spilled tinned food and powdered seasoning from instant ramen. Sakura really is the worst; papa left only two days ago. She needs to get better at cleaning up after herself.

She wonders what Ino might be thinking.

Sakura eventually has to turn her back to Ino. She is prepared this time, acutely aware of every shuffling sound Ino makes as she moves, the pattern of her breathing. Sakura pretends to rifle through the cupboards for snacks that aren’t there. She eventually settles on offering Ino a dented tin.

The blonde inspects it sceptically. “Peaches in syrup?”

Ino might be judging her. Sakura says, feeling both weak and tired suddenly, “It’s really good.”

They crack it open. Sakura splits it into two bowls, making an even bigger syrupy mess of the countertop. Ino briefly wanders about the kitchen looking for a wiping cloth, but quickly realises there isn’t one.

Ino stabs at a peach slice like she’s fishing in a river. Her eyes rove slowly between the peach, to the near-empty cupboard, and then finally to Sakura. Ino is definitely judging her.

Sakura wishes she could eat her food with more decorum, but she really is hungry. It is only when Ino slides her since-untouched bowl that Sakura manages to feel even slightly mortified. 

Ino asks levelly, “Do you know when your parents are coming home?”

Sakura shrugs, not really wanting to think about it.

From the corner of her eye, Ino frowns. “Are you alright, by yourself? I could’ve helped with food. Mum’s asking how you’ve been…”

“Food’s not a problem,” Sakura says, pasting a smile on her face again. “I really like peaches.”

“Okay,” Ino says, unconvinced. “Are you okay, being alone here?”

Sakura shrugs again. She thinks her eyes might bore holes into the dining table, if she tries hard enough. “My team and I are heading out tomorrow.”

“When will you be back?”

Sakura fiddles with her fork. “I’ll let you know if I’m back. I’ll find you.”

Ino settles back into her chair, looking deeper in thought than Sakura anticipates.

 _If_ , not _when_.

Sakura’s cheeks hurt from all this smiling.

\--

In the morning, Sakura finds several small parcels pushed through the mail slot. A card sits on top of the pile. Sakura unfolds it to find a pressed flower. Words in glitter gel pen weave around it:

_Sakura,_

_I’ve been growing zinneas. They bloomed just a few days ago.  
Mum says they stay strong through all sorts of weather.  
I’ve cut and pressed a stem for you. When you come back, we can frame it together.  
Good luck out there._

_PS. Got these from mum and Choji. Before you freak, no, it wasn’t any problem. They were happy to help. I hope they’re enough. Dad says you can send letters from the warfront. Let me know if you need anything. Don’t be stupid not to._  
_PPS. Write to me, please. I want to hear ~~you’re okay~~ about everything._  
_PPPS. Please ~~don’t die~~ take care._

_Ino._

There are streaks and smudges in the ink, like water might’ve spilled in drops and Ino tried her best to wipe at them. Sakura swallows thickly, her heart heavy with something between sadness and gratitude. She folds the card and carefully slides it into her rucksack. She tears the parcels open next; with each reveal, she feels her eyes widen more and more, her jaw slackening off its hinges:

Bandages. Medicine. Field rations. 

She can never thank Ino enough.

Because she owes this much, Sakura promises to try not to let herself die.

\--

The Konoha gates close far too quickly. Sakura is left staring at chipping green paint on old wood. Her eyes drift above, to the Konoha symbol etched in stone, matching her headband.

“Sakura-chan?”

“Coming,” she says, turning to chase after them with more urgency than she feels. There is really no need; they’ve hardly moved any further than a few feet away. Right then, it is clear to her that she isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to leave.

Kurenai-senpai no longer limps when she moves. Her face is unmarred again. Her arm is no longer in a sling either, but it’s wrapped up in bandages all the way to her fingertips. She does the same for her other arm too; Sakura wonders if there might be a scar she is trying to hide. Kurenai-senpai does it well. She holds her chin high enough that she could almost pretend she doesn’t look sad again— 

But Sakura knows the look in her eyes all too well. They’re mama’s eyes. They’re papa’s eyes. Kiba’s eyes. Sakura’s own eyes. Tenten’s eyes too.

Tenten holds herself strangely. Her eyes are ringed from lack of sleep, but her grin is too wide, pulling tightly at her cheeks. While her hand would hover over her weapons holster before, now she clutches at her kunai so tightly her knuckles are bone-white. She’s chattering away, almost frantic. Kurenai-senpai is telling her to breathe.

Shino walks toward Sakura. His shoulders are hunched again. He says, the words foreign on his tongue, “I— hope we come back soon. It was… reaffirming to be back.”

“Reaffirming?” Sakura echoes, looking at him in confusion. 

“I had…” his pauses are odd. It is almost like he’s considering every word too carefully, like he isn’t sure he is allowed to say them. He tries anyway. “I had worries. But everything— everyone, is still alright.”

“I’ll miss everyone,” Sakura agrees.

“Yes,” Shino says distantly.

She looks at him, feeling thoughtful. “Are your family all at home?”

Sakura wishes she could tell what he is thinking. Behind his high collar and dark glasses, the only indicator she gets is through his words and his voice or even how he moves. But he doesn’t need to move much for her to sense the tense energy settling around him again. He says, “… I have a brother. Torune.”

She remembers the first time Kurenai-senpai met Shino, and how peculiarly he reacted when she revealed his status. _You are mistaken_ , he said. Sakura says out loud, “And your brother is the heir.” It is more a statement than a question.

“Yes,” Shino says again. 

A silence settles between them both, ruptured only by Kurenai-senpai and Tenten’s hushed conversation. Sakura strains her ears to listen:

 _“I will fight for this village, but I will not die for it. I don’t want to! Someone called me cannon fodder,”_ Tenten is hissing. _“Are we cannon fodder?”_

Sakura only realises she might have made a noise at that when Kurenai-senpai’s eyes lock on hers. Her red eyes narrow in warning, and she shakes her head once. Sakura looks away immediately, shame-faced at being caught. She makes a show of crunching the gravel underneath her feet. It cuts through any more of the exchange well enough. Sakura also tries to pretend her mind isn’t stuck on what she did hear, but lying to herself isn’t so easy.

Unexpectedly, Shino speaks up again. “I am doing this for my brother.”

She looks at him quizzically. He continues: “I have given my life to keep him safe.”

Sakura points out, “You’re still alive, Shino. You don’t have to give your life away yet.”

The air around him starts to hum and buzz. He raises his head up slightly.

The metal against her forehead seems to weigh heavier now than it ever did before.


	6. Chapter 6

The journey to the Military Camp is woven with all sorts of detours; apparently the quickest route isn’t necessarily the safest. Sometimes, Sakura sees smoke break through the canopy from not too far away. Other times, the ground rumbles. Pebbles would dance at their feet; it’s around then that Kurenai-senpai calls an end to any break they take. They leap across trees. They glide across brooks, banks and rivers. They chase the beaten path ahead. They run.

It all becomes an exercise in will and patience. Each movement is a design in how far to run or jump, and just how much chakra she needs for every move. One time, Tenten miscalculates, her foot landing on too weak a branch. Kurenai-senpai moves swifter than a whisper, and helps Tenten regain her footing. No one should ever fall behind.

“Who are we running from?” Sakura asks once, through ragged breathing.

“Konoha shinobi patrol the area— there’s always a sensor within their groups. I’ve been sending regular pulses with my chakra to reassure them we’re friendly. But sometimes—” Kurenai-senpai frowns slightly. “Sometimes the people that come by here are not so friendly. We need to let the patrollers take care of that. And that means moving fast and staying out of their way.”

“Shouldn’t we— help them?” Sakura asks, deciding against risking a glance behind her.

Shino supplies, “The patrollers are used to working together. They don’t know who we are, and we don’t know who they are. We would only cause more harm than good.”

“But…” Sakura trails off, frowning to herself.

Kurenai-senpai shakes her head. Briefly Sakura notices Kurenai-senpai hardly looks as though she’s even broken a sweat. She is almost jealous. Kurenai-senpai says, “If it comes down to it that either us or them would need help, a flare would be sent up. But for now, let’s move on.”

For a while, time loses all sense of meaning. Sakura only knows it’s a while before they finally stop. Her legs would be long past screaming in pain. They fold under her heaving gasps. She swallows down any rising bile; Kurenai-senpai has been working hard to wipe away their trail as they ran. It wouldn’t do to ruin that now.

“You did really good, if you think about it,” Tenten says, fanning herself with a large leaf. It doesn’t hide the tremble in her shoulders, not out of fatigue. Her eyes are looking far away. 

Sakura looks at her, frowning. “About what?”

Tenten takes too long to answer, distracted by her own thoughts. Finally, she says, with a worn half-smile that doesn’t look quite right on her face, “I’ve been out a year and I still slipped. But it’s only your first time out of the village. So you did good.”

She almost wants to say out loud that she doesn’t think she can move for the longest while. But then she remembers Tenten’s story, of racing across several countries, through sand and rain and hail and beating sun. Against a ticking clock, to return injured and poisoned shinobi to the village. It must have taken her days. Sakura can’t begin to fathom what that must’ve been like. She bites her tongue instead. 

Thankfully, Kurenai-senpai breaks their conversation to address them all. “All of you did well. This looks to be a good spot. We’ll set up camp for the night and move on in the morning. Shino, will you please use your kikaichu to scan the perimeter? And Tenten, please set trigger traps around a two-kilometer radius once he gives you the go ahead. Find some kindling if you can. I don’t anticipate any enemies but double back or send up a signal if anything looks even slightly amiss.”

They both nod and set off without question. Kurenai-senpai looks at Sakura with a smile. “We’ll pitch up the tent and organise dinner.”

While Kurenai-senpai says ‘we’, it ends up becoming mostly her, with senpai’s careful instruction. It's just another thing Sakura needs to learn. The tent is large and awkward to manoeuvre under Sakura’s shorter height and smaller hands, but she manages. When it comes to preparing dinner, Sakura expects for them both to pull out their scrolls to prepare instant ramen or tinned food. She is wrong. They both round up poor unsuspecting animals, and Sakura is encouraged to deal the killing blow each time. The rabbits twitch and jostle, and their eyes are blown wide in panic all the way through to their death.

Underneath all the fur, skin is just as paper-thin as Sakura remembers.

When they return, they find Shino and Tenten moving about the temporary campsite with some semblance of practice. Tenten is building a spit by Shino, who gets a fire going. Dinner is a lesson in gutting and skinning game— for her, in any case. Tenten proves to be the most practiced out of them, wasting not an ounce of flesh.

“Can we still eat these tomorrow?” Tenten asks idly, to which Kurenai-senpai nods. “Never really had meat when I was out in Suna. I don’t want to throw anything anyway.”

“How come there was no meat?” Sakura asks, grimacing at the congealing, cooling blood settling between her fingers. Carcasses don’t smell very nice.

“Food gets scarce at the warfront,” Shino supplies, indicating at the large scroll poking out of Sakura’s rucksack. “That is why Konoha has tasked us with bringing provisions to them.”

Kurenai-senpai skewers the rabbits on the spit and turns to Sakura. “You might want to separate that from your own food scroll, Sakura-chan, so they don’t get mixed up.”

“And hide them better,” Tenten says, jaw tight. “So no one takes your stuff.”

Sakura looks up, alarmed. “Somebody might take my things?”

Kurenai-senpai offers a placating smile. “Only if you’re not careful. Some people have been out there for a long while, Sakura-chan, without anyone helping them to top up their stores. It’s unfortunate, but it’s enough to make anyone desperate. Tenten is right. You need to hold on to your own supplies for as long as you can.” 

“Hide what you have from anyone you cannot trust,” Shino adds.

“And no matter what, don’t share,” Tenten finishes, nodding once resolutely. 

Sakura doesn’t like the sound of this. “What if someone needs it? What if they’re really hungry?”

These questions tire Kurenai-senpai out more than their travel did. “It may seem like the right thing to do at the time, helping them. But the more you give, the less you have. You need to look out for yourself first.”

When night falls across the clearing, they take turns between crawling into the tent to rest and keeping watch. Or at least, they would try to. Kurenai-senpai tucks a sleeping Tenten in the middle of her watch. She is near soundless, but Sakura only sees because sleep evades her that night. She doesn’t envy Tenten and the deep pattern of her breathing; the older girl seems to have struggled with sleeping for longer than Sakura has. She suspects Kurenai-senpai doesn’t sleep that night either, for reasons beyond her own.

Creatures whoop and titter and call almost too loudly. The earth is hard under the thin layer of her flowery pink sleeping bag— a token from her first ever sleepover at Ino’s. Sakura wishes she brought a pillow along with her. She wishes she could change into her pyjamas too, or at least pull some socks over her feet. Only Kurenai-senpai says shinobi outside the village should stay armed and dressed in case of trouble— shoes and all. 

With the fire doused before bed, chill creeps in to settle with them. Sakura would run through Suzume-sensei’s chakra exercise to regulate her body temperature, but this only works for as long as she is awake. Through the night, the cold rattles her bones. Tenten’s teeth chatter. For the first time, Sakura thinks Shino is clever to wear all the layers that he does.

On their second night out of the village, Sakura asks once, feeling almost pitiful, “Can’t we keep the fire going?”

Kurenai-senpai looks at her sympathetically. “We need to keep low, or the wrong people could find us.”

They aren’t the only team moving toward this particular Military Camp. Scattered across the country by miles and days, the other Konoha shinobi teams are just as small, to draw less attention. To keep casualties low. But still, they do happen:

On their third day of travelling, a flare shoots across the sky. They hunt its origin down to the aftermath of a battle. There are scorch marks across the ground, blackened and burnt trees. Weapons, strewn about the earth, embedded in odd places.

Tenten would yank out a kunai and give it a cursory examination. She pockets it, and then some. Kurenai-senpai doesn’t stop her. Tenten says eventually, her eyes darting about the area, “All this damage, and no bodies?”

“My kikai detect three casualties in the area, and one person still alive, but injured,” Shino says after a moment. “Two casualties in one direction. Two in another.”

Tenten presses her lips together, clutching onto another looted kunai. “… Are they enemies?”

“The injured one is a Konoha shinobi,” Shino says.

They split up to investigate. Noticing how she is starting to shake again, Kurenai-senpai takes Tenten along with her to find the wounded shinobi. A few kilometres away, Sakura and Shino happen upon a trail of red. They are splashes against rock, handprints against tree bark, drying dewdrops on leaves. The further they travel, the more a sense of dread settles in the pit of her stomach. The only thing that keeps her marching forward is Shino’s promise that whatever lies ahead is not alive.

It really shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. Sakura shouldn’t find comfort in the thought of anyone dead. 

–but she does. Someone else is dead but she is alive, and this is good.

True to Shino’s words, there are two bodies. Sakura doesn’t bother to kid herself by saying they are only sleeping. There is no rise and fall of their chest. No soft sound of breathing. No blankets or sleeping bags to help tuck them in. They are lying unnaturally, one with limbs splayed about like a broken doll. Their stillness is jarring. One of them still has their eyes open.

When Sakura makes no indication of moving any time soon, Shino approaches the open-eyed one in a brave pretence of fearlessness. Sakura only knows because his hands are trembling again, but he pockets them hastily.

He says, voice almost too detached, “… He is from Kumo.”

“B-but we’re heading toward Kusa. That’s nowhere near Kumo?” Sakura whispers, as if raising her voice would wake these shinobi. 

Shino hums, reaching into the Kumo shinobi’s pockets and holsters to see what stories might be told. There isn’t much. Half-missing weapons that Sakura suspects must be what Tenten pilfered earlier. Bandages and ointments that Shino would pocket himself.

It dawns on her belatedly, that looting corpses must be another norm she needs to adjust to. Sakura cringes inwardly, eyeing the other— corpse. Shino is taking much longer than he really needs to inspect the Kumo shinobi, keeping his head turned away from her. It’s as if he’s doing it to give her some semblance of encouragement, or space. He must see the discomfort plainly on her face.

As she closes the distance between her and the other body, she tries her hardest not to stare at the hole where his lower back should be. She focuses on anything else; the wild angles of his arms and legs, the standard shinobi sandals, the dark spiky hair, and then, a familiar symbol etched into a high collar— a red and white fan.

“He’s—” she breathes in sharply, her heart leaping out of its cage and into a pit. “Shino, look.”

When Shino appears by her soundlessly, she nearly jumps. She realises only then that she is a little tense. He says, “We will need to turn him over to check his eyes.”

Oh. Yes. That’s right. The thing Mizuki-sensei instilled in her and all her classmates. Standard protocol for clan shinobi like the Uchiha.

Touching the body breaks the fragile disconnect she shallowly tried to build. It is even more disconcerting when they realise the lower half of the Uchiha’s body won’t turn along with his upper half. He is nearly in two pieces, connected only by singed tissue. He is rapidly cooling too, his skin suddenly smoother than life. 

Despite being in halves, he is heavy. Literal dead weight. Sakura fights down the taste of vomit rising up in her.

One of his eyes is scratched out. Shino finds its remnants squished into a pulp in the Uchiha’s right hand. Sakura almost forgets that Shino is even slightly affected by any of this, but when he withdraws his hand from his pocket, it’s shaking even more violently than before.

“Are you okay?” she asks, without looking at him. It’s more engaging to watch him pry the other eyelid open.

“I will manage,” Shino says, but his tone tells her otherwise.

The other eye is still intact. The Uchiha must not have had time to destroy it before he— died.

Shino whips out a scroll unfamiliar to her. 

“What does this scroll do?” she says, brow furrowing.

He flinches slightly. The way his gaze snaps up to meet hers, it’s clear he didn’t anticipate her questioning him.

“We are supposed to retrieve fallen Konoha shinobi where we can, are we not?” Shino says, slowly. Like he’s racing for an excuse. Like he’s trying to find another prepared speech for a situation such as this. 

“That’s not a Body Scroll,” she argues. From her days in the Academy, Sakura has seen Body Scrolls and Storage Scrolls and Food Scrolls and Weapon Scrolls and the like. This one is very much not any one of them. “Mizuki-sensei says different scrolls have different properties. You can’t just mix them up. Body Scrolls are meant to help preserve—”

Shino interrupts her, his voice cool. “This is a different kind of Body Scroll.”

“Different how?”

Shino chooses not to answer. He unseals it and it stretches across the expanse of dirt, ready for the body to be placed onto it. For the longest moment, Shino stares at the unfamiliar symbols written across the thick material. He fidgets unconsciously. And then, he tucks unsteady hands under the dead shinobi’s armpits and looks at her pointedly for help.

Sakura shakes her head. “We’re supposed to slash his eyes first. Mizuki-sensei said to slash the eyes if we can’t protect them. If they’re dead on the field.”

“He is dead. He doesn’t need protection anymore,” Shino argues, in that practiced way that reminds Sakura of Suzume-sensei. Only he sounds even more unenthusiastic than Suzume-sensei ever did. When Sakura squares her shoulders, Shino releases the dead Uchiha, unable to bear touching him any longer.

Sakura says, frowning, “That’s not the rule, Shino.”

At hearing his name, he seems to deflate completely. His shoulders hunch inward a little. He tries another speech, “The Camp isn’t too far away. We can bring his body to the proper authority. They can decide what to do with his eye then.”

For all the bravado in his words, it seems he doesn’t believe them. Sakura doesn’t understand why they are even having this argument. She says stubbornly, “But that’s not the rule. You know the rule.”

Shino swallows thickly. And then his breath hitches strangely. Sakura peers at him with equal parts curiosity and concern. Shino eventually says, strangely, with those same odd pauses again, “Perhaps… I have different… rules.”

Sakura’s eyes narrow, because surely that can’t be right. “No, everyone at the Academy got the same rules, whether they’re from a clan or not. We need to slash his eye.”

He shrugs half-heartedly. 

She tries to reason, “It’s like this. Kurenai-senpai split the Shinobi Camp’s supplies between all of us. She said it’s insurance so that at least one of us can still give them their supplies in case the rest of us gets hurt. But he has one eye. And you only have one scroll. You can’t split his eye up.”

Shino says tightly, “I understand your concern—"

Sakura interrupts him. “It’s not a concern. Rules are rules. We need to slash his eye now, not later. Before we seal him up.”

Shino starts, “My superior—”

And then he stops. Out of nowhere, he starts coughing violently, clutching at his throat for air. Sakura rushes to his side, hands raised but unable to help in any way that might matter. She settles on rubbing his back. She doesn’t really think it does anything. Almost a minute passes until he’s able to breathe even in short gasps again. He dismisses her questions and quizzical stares, but Sakura sees he’s quivering openly now. His too-pale face is taking a purple hue, his lips too. And up this close, Sakura can just about see his eyes. 

They remind her of the rabbits she and Kurenai-senpai hunted. How they looked, before she killed them. Scared. Like prey.

Sakura wonders who the predator must be. Someone who can control what Shino can and cannot say. What kind of monster they must be, to terrify Shino so? And they want this Uchiha’s eye intact.

Shino’s superior. Not theirs. _His._

She thinks of how scared Shino was, the first time he introduced himself to the team. She thinks of his too pale skin and how he hid in shadows so no one could find him. She thinks of his strange pauses and practiced speeches. Shino has been like this for as long as she’s known him, and whether she lets him have the eye, it will not change a thing. It won’t make Shino’s superior ease up on him. His superior will just find something else to bully Shino into doing. This isn’t right.

Shino doesn’t need to explain himself; she thinks she understands. 

Where his actions aren’t his own, it’s up to her to act. 

Sakura says carefully, “… I’m going to squish his eye.”

Shino is silent, but he makes no move against her. In fact, he chooses then to look away. As if this somehow makes any difference. And maybe it does? After all, he can’t fight what he can’t see.

She poises her kunai over the last eye. She wishes she had mourning words for this man she never knew. This man with long eyelashes and a frown, heavy even in death. She wonders if he has family at home; if his body will be sent straight to them when they finally do deliver him to a grown up. She never did ask Mizuki-sensei what happened to them. Nobody did.

Sakura has too many questions now, but none bigger than the mystery surrounding Shino. And her worry and fear for him is enough to help carry her through her next actions. It’s enough for her not to think lingering thoughts about what happens next. 

The eye squelches under and through the closed eyelid. Out comes a clear liquid, like jelly. Pink jelly. The blood that churns out is unnaturally slow. Maybe it’s because this man is already dead. But she is alive, and Shino is alive, and that’s all that matters right now.

Shino pockets the foreign scroll and produces one she definitely recognises this time to be a Body Scroll. The Uchiha is awkwardly carried onto it in nearly two parts. Shino and Sakura don’t speak for the longest time. Sakura realises belatedly that her hands are sticky with eyeball fluid. They feel almost like rabbit innards, and this makes a strange part of her think that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t so bad.

She only laments that she can’t wash her hands yet. Her water flask is running too low. Kurenai-senpai says the nearest river isn’t for another half a day’s travel.

“We had to kill the survivor,” Tenten says, when they all come together again. Her smile is all teeth again, her eyes distressed. Tenten holds on too tightly to her kunai, picking imaginary flecks across the blade. “He wasn’t going to make it.”

“Did you find anything?” Kurenai-senpai asks them, expression sombre.

Shino hands Kurenai-senpai their scroll, and offers no further explanation. No mention of secret scrolls. No mention of how he was near strangled by a phantom force. No mention of his superior. No mention of his and Sakura’s argument over what to do with the Uchiha eye. No mention of how Sakura had to destroy it herself.

Sakura thinks this must mean something. A pragmatic part of her says that he must be doing all sorts of things in secret without people knowing. It says maybe, she should keep a better eye on Shino. But Kurenai-senpai is already hovering over him in her own way; she seems sorry for him. Not at all fearful or suspicious. A greater part of Sakura says that Shino is quiet, not because he wants to be, but because he has to be. It makes all the difference.

Sakura decides to keep silent too.

(She thinks Shino is grateful.)

\--

Sakura knows from mama’s stories of things that happen “in a land far away”, that the world is very big. Soon they would see a bridge in the distance, no bigger than Sakura’s pinky. It trails into the expanse of the horizon. Birds are flying into it, shrinking specks to follow the sunset. Sakura finds her breath halting in awe. 

Shino says it’s much bigger up close, and they can’t see from here, but it’s a major pathway for Iwa’s supplies, so it’s guarded to the brim with shinobi. Kurenai-senpai warns them not to stand too far out in the open. 

“What’s the bridge called?” she asks anyone.

“Kannabi Bridge,” Tenten says. “’The bridge where the gods do not help’. Kind of a scary name. One of my old taichous said it was supposed to be destroyed a long time ago. There was this one team. Most promising team of their time. They had this one chance to destroy the bridge, but they chose to turn back to Konoha and save their teammate instead.”

Kurenai-senpai says shortly, “I think they did the right thing.”

Tenten looks up at Kurenai-senpai, eyes fierce with conflicting emotion. “I thought that too. But then my old taichou said that if they destroyed the bridge when they had the chance, maybe the war would’ve ended. Now I don't know what I think.”

“Nobody knows that the war might've ended,” Kurenai-senpai says carefully. "There's no use dwelling on what could've been."

“Would it change anything,” Tenten asks, almost too casually, “If it got blown up now?”

“It’s not that simple, Tenten,” Kurenai-senpai says with a sigh. “So much has changed since then.”

Tenten hums. After a beat of silence, she speaks again, “Taichou said that the teammate isn’t an active shinobi anymore. He was hurt too bad. It's a shame. People say he was really great out there. All of them.”

Kurenai-senpai presses her lips together, and then says after too long, “There are bigger things than fighting.”

Tenten's eyes are earnest as she looks up at Kurenai-senpai. “Like what?”

\--

Before morning breaks, a bugle calls them into action. Sakura is quick to shoot up from her sleeping bag. Her tentmates are even quicker; Shino and Kurenai-senpai are already gone. Tenten is just slipping out of the tent, offering Sakura a wobbly “good luck” over her shoulder. Her eyes look hollow. 

Sakura doesn’t need to get ready, and doesn’t need to force herself into alertness. The howl of the bugle is relentless and shrill.

Her team arrived late last night, long past mama’s approved bedtime for her. Alongside the Body Scrolls they filled and the supplies prepared by Konoha, Sakura, Shino and Tenten had to offer the Commander strict introductions; their registration numbers, their rank, their skillset. Kurenai-senpai provided documents to go with these, but the Commander gave them no more than a brief skim.

Shino and Kurenai-senpai are assigned into the Special Battle Division. Tenten, into the Long-Range Division. She looked almost ill at the thought of being separated from the team, but nodded once instead. Accepting, but her grin was too wide again.

Sakura is assigned into Melee Division Three. The way Kurenai-senpai almost balked suggested this isn’t something Sakura isn’t properly suited to do. Or maybe that Division is just awful. But the Commander allowed no negotiations. They were debriefed and dismissed and sent to rest through the shortest night ever. With panic pulsing just under the surface of her skin, Sakura barely caught a wink of sleep.

Today will be her first day fighting in the war.

Outside, shinobi are shouting for men to get into their stations. Their voices are hoarse— like they’ve screamed too loud too often. Sakura pretends to fumble about the tent, smoothing her hair and straightening her sleeping bag. Her fingers are stiff when they move, her shoulders tense. All too soon she runs out distractions. She is loath to, but she has to leave the tent, or she will be accused of hiding. She can’t get into trouble so soon.

“Guard up, Sakura-chan,” Kurenai-senpai said to her, once. “Watch your surroundings.”

The camp is organised chaos. Shinobi of all ages are rushing about with purpose— left, right, and diagonals through dead grass and clotting mud. They find their platoon and shoot off into the fray. Stragglers from last night’s battle are only just crawling back from their stint of fighting. Konoha smells of ash and smoke, but never as pungently as this. Sakura sees soot-stained faces, missing gear, broken bones. There’s the faint smell of too-hot metal, of charred meat— 

“Oi, kid! Quit lagging! Get to your division!” a scarred shinobi barks.

Sakura runs, but in the thick of night before dawn, where all the lanterns are dimmed into near nothing, the stations look unfamiliar.

“Division Three? Sakura asks, to anyone who might stop to help. No one does. “Where’s Division—”

The call of the bugle is near manic. She thinks she hears her heart drumming to its rhythm in her ears. She wants to hear anything else. The sound of hooting owls and roars and loud rustles of animals maybe, the ones they hunted on their way towards this— this place. Those were pleasant, compared to this.

She finds the tail end of Division Three marching into the first peek of sunrise. Another shinobi asks for her registration number and she’s distracted as she lists it out loud. Oh-one-two-six— Division Three is nearly too far away. “Shinobi-san, can’t I just give you my name?” she asks hurriedly. But he says no. Registration number. _Now._

She doesn’t want to fight. She doesn’t want to be left behind either. She can’t be. Traitors aren’t tolerated. They’re punished. That’s why anyone would keep quiet about anything and everything these days.

Suzume-sensei says she is here to defend. Sakura thinks of Ino-chan in the safety of the village. Sakura can’t die. Ino is expecting a letter from her. Suddenly, her lungs are too tight for air. The man marks her attendance and Sakura chases after her squad as fast as her legs can carry her.

She is one of the last to leave. She runs miles away from camp, racing after a wave of navy. When she finally arrives, the battle is in full swing.

Bodies are stepped across or stepped on. Faces and exposed limbs have dirty shoeprints crumbling on them. Some shinobi are on their backs or even on their bellies, still breathing. They crawl for cover anywhere, but there is none. This is an open field with no shade and no boulders to hide behind. No hollows in the ground and no water. This is an open field decorated with sprays of bodily fluid—new blood, coating old blood like fresh coats of paint. It is certainly thick enough. 

Some would splatter into Sakura's hair, some across her front. She tastes metal on her tongue. She is shocked no one has spotted her yet, running past her in favour of larger opponents. Or maybe the enemies are simply dismissing her. Is she really so small? Is she so little a threat not to even consider her? Hazily, she recalls that this is exactly what Suzume-sensei said would happen. Sakura will need to use her size against them.

Sakura swipes feverishly at anyone who comes too close with a foreign forehead protector. Friends and enemies are harder to decipher than they should be. The dead Iwa shinobi by her is wearing maroon. She tries for maroon. She scrambles to remember rushed anatomy lessons and any technique she might’ve learned. The Body Flicker, a genjutsu, the replacement technique. Anything. But her fingers are wound too tightly around her kunai to even consider forming hand seals. She is nowhere near fast enough to execute a technique anyway, not through this breathless swarm of shinobi. Her head is still ringing with the call of the bugle, and haste and panic—. This is nothing like killing a restrained prisoner. This is demented and thoughtless, and she keeps nearly tripping on the fallen—

Maroon rushes past her and she jabs at them right behind their knee. She hears an anguished scream. She withdraws her kunai and aims for their abdomen; their throats are too high up for her to reach— how are they still standing? It must be the shock. Sakura is certainly shocked by her own actions—

She doesn’t need to find a way to reach his throat. A nearby Konoha shinobi takes their enemy’s pause as an opportunity to finish them off. There’s a broad swing of a red-painted sword—

A head rolls onto the ground. There might’ve been a dull thud. She isn’t sure. Metal is clashing and there’s plenty of the sound of skin slicing open around her. Sakura has no time to scream. The Konoha shinobi almost offers her a nod, but instead looks almost appalled at the sight of her. She doesn’t know what she’s done now. He moves on to the next fight without a second glance. She hopes he knows she’s thankful. Sakura clutches tighter at her kunai in one hand and withdraws a second in the other. Her arms are already protesting at the weight. She won't be able to carry them for long. But the fight has only just begun.

She runs through the throng, ducking and dodging wildly from limbs and weaponry. She dimly registers some grazing her skin— but mostly, no one is aiming for her. Almost everyone is at least a teen to a grownup, and they don’t pay her any mind. She slices through maroon. Backs of knees. Calves. And then she recalls the Achilles tendon. Swipes at them both cleanly. One Iwa-nin is felled like a tree, delirious with pain. Their eyes say they're confused at how this could’ve happened. 

This Iwa-nin spots Sakura the moment she forces her dark eyes open. But there is no other Konoha shinobi to finish them off. This one is Sakura’s and she needs to move quick because this Iwa-nin is grabbing at her shuriken blearily, ready to aim—

Sakura stabs them through the eye. She’s done this before. She is unprepared for the gurgling scream, but it dies almost instantly. The Iwa Shinobi twitches, and then stops. Sakura focuses on the sight of eyeball fluid. The pink jelly is familiar. It helps. She nods to herself and finds more legs to topple.

It’s easier than it should be, not thinking. For now, at least.

She will have to think later. But later is later.

She needs to move quick, now.

She doesn’t want to die. If this means someone else has to, then—

At least she’s alive.

This is good. It must be. 

\--

Sunset descends upon them. The rested Konoha shinobi from this morning begin to gush like a loose tap onto the battlefield. Sakura and the rest of Division Three are told to fall back. She trudges back to camp through the muck with the rest of them.

Designated shinobi stop to retrieve bodies. Others would help too, if they have the time. If they have enough Body Scrolls. Most of them don’t. Some bodies are so stiff they’re laid like posed statues onto scrolls. Others are trampled. Some have their eyes scratched or slashed off. She imagines these ones especially, staring holes into them all anyway. Holes like where their eyes once were. This will keep her up tonight.

She’s clutching at a gash across her forearm, as if pinching the skin close will stitch it back together on its own accord. Sakura vaguely registers the dull ache of her legs and arms, the sluggish weeping of the wound— which must be in pain, if the slash across her palm just weeks ago is anything to go by. Her heart is still rushing in her ears, pounding so fast her fingers shake. Adrenaline, a Konoha shinobi tells her. The adrenaline will wear off. 

She will be so sore later. She needs to see a medic before dinner.

She’s lost her two kunai along the way; she’s gained four more, and a new holster too. It’s a little too big to buckle against her thigh. She will need to poke holes into the strap later. 

Her hair is plastered to her face. Her hands are crusting over with drying blood. She needs a shower too.

Sakura needs a lot of things.

When they reach the camp, it’s a repeat of this morning. The bugle and the bustle. Only Sakura is on the other side of the lens. Some divisions are only just being sent into battle. Others, like her, are returning from their own spell of fighting. She follows the grownups towards the medical tent. There’s a lengthy queue. 

The air smells as awful as she remembers. The skies aren’t any clearer either. Wet earth is sticking between her toes. It’s grit and gravel, dirt and sweat under her nails, and anywhere else it can linger. Sakura overhears talk of shinobi wanting to have at the water bucket later for a shower. She wonders if there’s a line for that too. 

The queue doesn’t get any shorter. The bugle has stopped by now, but Sakura still hears it echo in her head. The shinobi from other divisions must have all returned now. Some of them bear clan crests. It’s enough to place them further ahead in the line, even if Sakura was there long before them. Her arm really is starting to sting quite badly. She might be feeling faint too. Sakura is half-tempted to abandon the queue and dress the wound herself. Suzume-sensei said Sakura knew more or less how to. But she can’t do that; Kurenai-senpai already said to hold on to her own supplies until things got scarce.

Sakura wonders how often that happens.

Too long a while later, she is asked to remove all her weaponry before she’s seen by a medic-nin. There are rows of stretcher beds, all occupied. Some shinobi have drips and beeping machines attached to them. Sakura overhears a medic telling someone they’ll need to go back home to the village. The shinobi looks ecstatic.

For however large the tent is, there are only four medics, looking harried as they bustle about. Their once-white uniform has taken a yellowish tinge, stained with fluid and blood that hasn’t quite washed off. A quick glance tells Sakura that none of this is their own. It doesn’t surprise her. Their hair is still pinned back, only loose baby hairs curling from the mugginess of sweat and body heat. Their shoes are mostly clean; they walk over and around puddles of gore and vomit with practiced ease. 

Sakura wonders if these medics have ever seen battle, or if all they see is the aftermath. She wonders what that must be like. 

The medic-nin that oversees her looks like she forgot how to smile. Her steady hands are cold, and the mint green glow of chakra that wills Sakura’s skin to knit back together is even colder. The medic is precise in her actions, from the too-neat way she folds up Sakura’s sleeve, to the exact minute she allows Sakura to read over her medical form. The medic is so still sometimes she might be stone. She has Sakura pop a pill; Sakura asks for a glass of water with it but there is none. The medic looks almost sorry for her.

She tells Sakura to hurry up and sign the form so she can leave. There are other patients she needs to see.

“We will see you tomorrow,” the medic says.

“Do I have a check up?” Sakura asks.

“No,” the medic says distantly. “But we will see you tomorrow. For another injury, perhaps.” 

It’s not at all reassuring. 

Sakura's newly healed skin is fresh. Smooth. Like medic-nin hands.

As Sakura redresses herself with weapons, she considers how familiar the medics seem with the other shinobi patients. They must come in a lot. Maybe Sakura _will_ see them tomorrow after all, if not very soon. 

She imagines it must make the medics very sad, to have to heal the same shinobi every day, so they can fight tomorrow. Only for the very same shinobi to come in after that, needing healed again. Until they don’t come in anymore. Maybe that makes them even sadder.

Sakura imagines that all the healing must be why the medic-nins’ hands are polished so smooth. Like shiny new forehead protectors. Sakura sees it plainly; medic-nin don’t need calluses on their hands to fight for their own lives. They only need to keep their hands steady, to save everyone else’s.

Being a medic-nin must be very difficult. Sakura can barely wrap her mind around the idea that it’s up to herself to keep herself alive- much less save anyone else. Sakura could barely even clean up after herself when she was home.

In fact, she must look a mess right now. She doesn’t know where dinner is being served. She doesn’t know where the shower bucket is either. She doesn’t recognise anyone that walks past her. She hopes she finds Tenten or Shino or Kurenai-senpai soon. Secretly though, in spite of their pleasant company, Sakura finds herself missing Ino and her parents again.

She wonders if mama or papa have been home since she left. She wonders how much mail is stacking at the front door. Sakura wonders if she took out the rubbish before she left. She can’t remember. She supposes it doesn’t really matter. Not while she’s here. There’s too much else to worry about.

She drifts through the camp. Somewhere further down the right, there’s a quarrel over stolen cigarettes. There’s a vague memory jogging through her mind. Sakura, mama and papa were in a restaurant, almost too long ago. They were celebrating her fourth birthday. There was cake. A man was smoking in the booth right next to them. One cigarette after another. In retrospect, Sakura thinks maybe he was stressed. But mama was tutting, telling him to please stop, there’s a child right here. And then she turned to Sakura and said, don’t you smoke, Sakura-chan. It’s bad for your teeth, you know. You need to look after your teeth.

Sakura eventually spots Kurenai-senpai’s tent. She finds it empty, which has her sighing in blessed relief. Suddenly, she isn’t sure if she is ready to speak to anyone, yet. Sakura reaches for her rucksack and grabs her toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. A part of her is glad she had the foresight to pack a new one, over the half-used one she had at home. It is the first positive she’s happy about, today.

She grabs her flask too; it’s only then she notices her hands are still coated red. But she will deal with that later. There are other pressing matters:

She takes the smallest sip of water. When she swallows, it tastes strongly of copper. Sakura can’t fight the visible shudder that races down her spine. She squeezes the tube of toothpaste and focuses on brushing her teeth.

Mama always reminded her to hold the toothbrush at an angle. Sakura brushes each tooth in circular motions. Outside and inside. The tops of her teeth. Her gums too, gently. Her tongue.

Sakura gags. And then suddenly, she feels she has ruined her ablutions. She needs to start again.

Pea-sized amount of toothpaste. Angled brushing. Brush, brush, brush. Scrub, scrub, scrub.

In the corner of her eye, the hand holding her toothbrush is still caked in dried blood. It crusts and flakes when she adjusts her grip. The ritual is going all wrong. She has to start again. Just one more time.

She still smells smoke outside. She brushes her teeth again.

And again.

And again.

Before she knows it, she is crying. This goes against the Shinobi Code of Conduct, but no one is here to see. 

None of this feels right.

\--

The next morning, the bugle sounds again. 

The days start to blur.


	7. Chapter 7

_Ino,_

_I forgot to pack pens and paper. Shino gave me a pen. I just tore off a bit from a ~~Body~~ Scroll. Tenten says it should be fine. I hope it’s fine. I’m sorry my paper isn’t pretty._

_Me and Shino and Tenten and Kurenai-senpai just got to the camp. It’s really big, but it’s good at hiding. I nearly missed it, but Kurenai-senpai said to always look for **[REDACTED]** ‘cus that’s where Konoha camps always **[REDACTED]**. We just saw the commander. He looked grumpy, but it was really late. Shino said it was almost 2am! Maybe we woke him up? I hope he gets back to sleep okay. Sleep is nice._

_I wish I could sleep. I’m fighting tomorrow. I won’t be with my team. ~~It makes me sad~~ But maybe I’ll find someone I know? Make friends? Do people make friends while they fight? Maybe not. Making friends is a lot of talking and not enough fighting. Suzume-sensei would say it’s a waste of time. _

_Wish me luck._

_I hope you’re okay. How are things over there?_

_Sakura._

\--  
\--

_Ino,_

_~~Three days ago, I killed two people. I hurt a lot more. I stopped counting after ten. Tenten says I did really good. I don’t think I did good. I close my eyes and try to sleep and I think of squished eyes and red hands. I don’t sleep much anymore. My uniform feels all crusty. It smells bad. It’s really crowded and busy in the fight. I get sweaty and all bloody. I want a bath but it’s not my turn yet.~~ _

_~~There’s not a lot of water here. Kurenai-senpai says Iwa guards the river, so what Konoha has is rationed. They ration everything. I know better for next time. If I can, next time, maybe I’ll bring water bottles in a scroll. Shino has some but I don’t want to ask because it’s his and he needs to take care of himself first.~~ _

_~~Two days ago, I killed four people. I don’t know how many I hurt. I didn’t count them. I had to remember hand seals for jutsu, so I couldn’t count. There’s lots of things to think about and not enough time to think them.~~ _

_~~Yesterday, I killed three. My legs really hurt ‘cus I’m always running. I want to sit down sometimes but it’s not time to sit. There’s a time for everything. Like before bed, it’s the time I use to write. It makes me happy. I hope you read this and you’re happy I wrote.~~ _

_~~Sakura~~ _

_~~Sorry the letter is so short. Kurenai-senpai says I shouldn't write this kind of stuff. She says it’s inciting. There’s a censor-man and he might cover stuff up so you can’t see what I wrote. I have to colour this all in now so you can’t see what I said. This makes me angry angry sad.~~ _

_~~I’m sorry the paper is all covered in stuff. My hands are dirty.~~ _

_~~I can’t write this either. I’m sorry.~~ _

_I’m okay._

_Sakura_

\--  
\--

In the quiet moments in the tent, before they kill the single lantern, they all find things to do. Sakura suspects her teammates’ reasoning for their hobbies are much like hers: if they try to keep themselves busy, maybe they will have less time to think. It’s a failed theory, one that is much easier said than done. They all keep trying anyway. 

Sakura writes. She tears off more and more of the Body Scroll every night. She probably shouldn’t, but she tells herself the pickup team has lots of Body Scrolls and they won’t miss this one. Sometimes, Sakura frets about the day she will run out of paper. She has to remind herself it’s not for a little while yet. She can’t think about so far into the future, not when there’s a never-ending fight outside.

She writes long and short messages. To mama, to papa. Especially to Ino. Sometimes she struggles with spelling, but Kurenai-senpai is always ready to help. Sakura thinks her penmanship is improving too, though she doesn’t care enough to gather a second opinion about that. She only ever wants to know if she can send what she writes home. Mostly, Kurenai-senpai says no. It’s too provocative, she says. It’s too instigating. Sakura can’t write such things.

“Why not?” she asked once. “It’s how I feel.”

Kurenai-senpai reached over and tucked Sakura’s hair behind her ear. Her hair really is getting quite long, but the thought of getting it cut makes her uncomfortable. Kunai, so close to her neck. She would rather not. Kurenai-senpai said, “It would be terrible, if the wrong people find out how you feel.”

“I trust Ino,” Sakura insisted.

“I know you do,” Kurenai-senpai said, frowning prettily. “But we shouldn’t trust the eyes that’ll be looking at your letters before they reach her.”

After, Sakura tries her best to write vague things. She’s not very good at it. In fact, she finds the longer she is here, the less she can talk about. Her letters to Ino turn into a long stream of questions: how are you? How are your flowers? Are your zinneas okay? Or your daisies? How are Shikamaru and Choji? And on and on.

An idle part of Sakura knows, deep down, she would be happy to learn what Ino has gotten up to. Sakura is eager for good news of any sort, and she is always happy for her friend’s happiness.

Secretly though, a louder part of Sakura’s mind seethes at having to bottle her thoughts and feelings from anyone, yet again.

She pretends to write letters to no one. It helps, not a lot, but just enough. These are letters she will never have Kurenai-senpai read over. They’re mindless spills of ugly words and uglier thoughts. Sakura won’t read them back to herself either. She shouldn’t; not when the exercise is not to think. 

When Sakura is done weaving words, she scratches them all from existence with heavy black ink. For good measure, she feeds them into the lantern’s flame. Sakura is extra careful not to let the fire escape from its glass prison. Her teammates don’t stop her from playing with fire either; they all have their habits. It’s soothing.

Shino has his books. Stacks upon stacks that would be sealed away into nothingness as soon as he picks one. Sakura recognises them all to be encyclopaedias. They have hard covers, embossed lettering, gold-gilded edges— the expensive kind Sakura wanted, far too long ago. She pointed it out to her parents once, when they walked past a bookstore with impressive displays. Mama said they couldn’t afford the entire set, but maybe, one day, they would buy her just one of these books so Sakura could start her own collection. Mama said to wait till her next birthday. Her parents were going to let her pick out a book all by herself.

Sakura doesn’t think that’s going to happen anymore.

She reminds herself to stop thinking; she fails. 

Sakura has been marking the days by sunsets. Every dawn she rises to the call of the bugle, but she wouldn’t count it to be another day until she stumbles back to camp along with the other shinobi. It would be another day she’s survived. She has made it through fifteen sunsets so far. 

Just over two weeks. This reminds her of her classmates in Suzume-sensei’s class. The ones that said Sakura wouldn’t last this long. It’s only been over a month since she graduated. That’s strange to think. A part of Sakura wants to tell her old classmates that they were wrong. That she’s still here. But she doesn’t know where any of them are now, if they’re anywhere at all. Sakura supposes it doesn’t matter. None of them cared, then. They likely wouldn’t now. She wrote this in a letter to Ino once, but Kurenai-senpai wouldn’t let her post it. It’s a shame.

Staying alive is what drives Sakura to do anything lately.

It’s what drives her as she swipes kunai across flesh and bone. It’s what drives her to keep running, long after she forgets what her legs are supposed to feel like. Every breath she takes from her kills is a breath for her. 

It makes things a little easier, to think this way. It shouldn’t, but it does.

(It feels wrong.)

Tenten never says it out loud, but Sakura knows she thinks the same way. She can tell; even if Tenten always comes back to camp with her hands full of stolen weapons, the smiles on her face are empty. 

Tenten has a pocket-sized book. She guards it jealously, but from what Sakura sees, it’s a worn looking thing. Dark brown leather. A weathered spine. Water-logged pages. In these precious moments before they all tire for the night, Sakura hears the click of Tenten’s pen. It’s smooth, repetitive strokes on paper, like she’s etching quick lines, over and over. One, two, three, four, and too many more. With Sakura’s attention mostly on her writing, she often loses count.

Once, Sakura asked Tenten, what all these lines were for. Kurenai-senpai looked up from pouring (her third) cup of sake and shot Sakura a warning look. Sakura understood why; they let her be when she embedded loud, angry lines across paper before she burnt them. Sakura has no business asking Tenten how she kept busy. She answered anyway.

“I count my kills,” Tenten said. “Don’t you?”

Sakura said tentatively, “… I know how many I killed every day.”

Tenten nodded, closing her pen between her book gently. “Whenever I’m back out here, I count as many as I can. All of them. It helps me sleep.”

Sakura avoided glancing at the heavy rings of purple around Tenten’s eyes, the ones that say she doesn’t sleep as well as she’d like everyone to believe. Sakura said, “… Papa said if I can’t sleep, that I should close my eyes and count sheep in my head. Is it like that?”

“A little bit,” Tenten said, smiling out of habit. “But I don’t like to close my eyes. I don’t see sheep.”

Shino looked up from his book then. He hadn’t turned the page in the longest while. “How many have you killed?”

“I’m not really sure. I didn’t start this from the very beginning. I picked it up a while into Suna,” Tenten said. Her eyes squinted to focus on the grooves of leather of her book. “But since I started counting, it’s one hundred and twenty-seven. I’m counting to one hundred and twenty-seven tonight.”

“That’s a big number,” Sakura marvelled, voice soft.

Tenten grimaced. Her voice is carefully distant. “… They weren’t all shinobi. One time, this team and I had to go to this small town in Suna. We blew up their clinics. There were people in there. They didn’t look like they were hurting anybody. They all died.”

Kurenai-senpai said, very quietly, “Careful, Tenten. Someone might be listening.” She looked regretful. 

Tenten started clicking her pen anxiously. Over and over and over. It just about masked Tenten’s next words, so Sakura had to strain to listen. “There were these Suna shinobi who kept attacking and killing and robbing the Konoha shinobi who were supposed to bring the camp food. The Konoha camp had to go hungry for a while. When we blew the clinics up, taichou said it was revenge. But the clinic can’t have been the ones who took our food. They were civilians. They didn’t look like they could fight back. But what do I know?”

Tenten was shaking again. She tore her eyes from her pocketbook to the tent flap, like she expected an entire platoon to break in and punish her. Kurenai-senpai crawled over to Tenten. Her fingers were splayed into the air, her arms open. Tenten allowed the tight hug that came after, but her eyes stayed wide open. Glossed over.

“We’ve talked about this, Tenten,” Kurenai-senpai whispered, after too long. “We can’t say things like that, especially not here. We don’t know who might be listening.”

Tenten broke from the embrace then, her eyes wild. She said roughly, “We can’t say anything anywhere.”

Right then, Sakura’s eyes returned to the torn piece of scroll she’s penned her thoughts onto. There was familiar black ink, scored in lines across what were once words. There was no telling what she might’ve written. She burnt it later, anyway.

\--

No one looks for a child in the middle of a battle. Any Konoha shinobi that might spot her there is quick to look away. Sakura thinks she knows why: Akame-senpai said she’s a lost cause. No one truly expects her to survive. Sakura tries not to take it to heart. It hurts anyway.

Somewhere along the days that pass, it becomes less and less the kind of hurt that makes her sad. Now, when she thinks of mean grownups who would let her die, she’s reminded of Fuki. Sakura remembers how he kept tripping her, so everyone else would laugh. She remembers stomping on his foot. How he cried in pain. She almost said sorry. She’s glad she didn’t.

She would gladly stomp on him again, now. She will stomp on them all. She will show them. She’ll make it. She won’t die. She can’t. She promised Ino. 

It is twenty-nine sunsets in, and she moves a little quicker every day. Or at least, she imagines she does. She knows she can’t outpace a full-grown shinobi, but she hasn’t needed to yet. The grownup Konoha and Iwa shinobi are too busy fighting each other to notice her darting through the battlefield. Her arms get used to the weight and resistance of slashing kunai across vests and cloth and skin. Calluses settle deep in her palms. She’s thankful for them. It helps her keep her grip.

Sometimes, she slashes deep diagonals across stomachs. It’s not something Suzume-sensei ever taught, but Sakura learns there’s plenty of ways to kill someone. The first time Sakura did it, she didn’t move away soon enough. She returned to camp with remnants of bile and intestines spilled over her. It was the first and only time she was thrown near the front of the shower bucket queue. Nobody liked the smell of guts. As revolted as she was, Sakura was grateful that it meant she could scrub the blood under her nails, _finally_. It’d been almost two weeks since she last bathed, then.

She leaves one Iwa shinobi— no older than ten, maybe— clutching at the spills from his stomach. His eyes meet hers, and Sakura can’t help but flinch. Not at the gore, but at the look in his eyes. Accusatory. Distraught. Scared. Sakura hates, hates, _hates_ looking her kills in the eye. Konoha is so obsessed with Uchiha eyes and Hyuga eyes. As if any other kinds of eyes are not as important. But this Iwa boy’s eyes are telling her so much— 

She feels sorry. She can’t feel sorry. He’s the enemy. But he’s not very tall and he’s skinny like he’s hungry, and his tummy is pouring into his fingers—. He won’t be hungry anymore.

Sakura doesn’t know why she’s panicking suddenly, but she’s near choking on it. She slashes at the Iwa boy’s eyes too, and suddenly he’s not the Iwa boy. He’s fallen forward, bleeding out in the dirt, and he’s kill number four today. His shoulders are still moving. Shaking even, but Sakura knows he will bleed out soon. She should stop staring.

Her heart is pulsing at the edge of her fingertips. She needs to calm down and move on, now.

She returns to the fight without ever glancing back.

\--

Forty-three sunsets pass, and it’s dinner time. Same as always, shinobi bearing clan crests are allowed to slip further ahead into the queue. The rest of them have to shuffle back a step or two. Sakura and Tenten stand near the end of the line. Sakura has learned earlier on that this is never a good thing; the shinobi up ahead get better portions of food. She’s seen it as they walk away: fuller bowls, vegetables, and sometimes, on the really good days when the new teams arrive from Konoha, even actual meat. The animals in the area have been hunted into extinction long ago. Sakura would kill for a bit of meat— a rabbit maybe. Even a squirrel or field mouse, if it must be.

She’s hungry.

As if to announce this, her tummy rumbles, mortifyingly loud. Sakura hides her head, her cheeks flushing. The grownups just in front of them twitch a little, but it’s the only indication they heard her at all. This is just another thing that reminds her of Suzume-sensei’s class; the adults would talk to her if they absolutely had to. But they tend not to want to look at her. It doesn’t make her sad anymore. Especially since this treatment is extended to Tenten and Shino too. They are the youngest at the camp, after all.

Tenten said once, that the grownups ignore them because they feel guilty.

Sakura turned to Kurenai-senpai then, asking if this is true. Then she asked why Kurenai-senpai didn’t treat them like everyone else did. 

Kurenai-senpai just looked really tired again.

“— found this neat-looking kodachi—”

Tenten is regaling Sakura with her exploits today. Sakura would never tell Tenten though, that it only does so well to distract her. The weapon is far too large to simply be picked up mid-battle. Sakura’s eyes drift to the few enemy bodies lined up not too far away, freshly looted for their provisions. Every now and then, they're picked up by accident in the rush off the battlefield. And they can't continue to be kept in Body Scrolls because those are for Konoha-nin bodies to be sent home. These enemy bodies are ready to be buried or doused in oil and hacked up to burn away in little campfires. It’s morbid, but they have no choice. There's only so much land to bury the dead. The trees have long since been stripped of kindling too, and they can't tear any more down as the trees help hide the camp. Winter is creeping on the horizon. 

In a strange show of morality, the grownups told Kurenai-senpai not to let her, Tenten or Shino sit too close to the flames. Like they can’t be trusted near fire because it's too dangerous. It makes no sense to Sakura. She's not that stupid she might stick her hand in.

In the rare occasions that the burning happens, everyone pretends they don’t smell charring flesh. 

Sakura will never tell anyone this; when flesh melts down to the bone, all the she would think of is real food, real meat and vegetables, and she gets so hungry again. The portions of food they’re fed truly are pitiful. Sakura wants badly to reach into her food scroll and grab a tin of— well, anything. But Kurenai-senpai says not yet. Really, how bad must it get before she’s allowed to rake through her own provisions?

“— clean it up and find someone to teach me, but it’ll be so good to learn how to use another weapon—”

Sakura nods along with Tenten. She asks, “Is it heavy?”

“Honestly, if I weren’t so little, it’d be fine. The sword is probably the same length as you are tall! Maybe even longer! But I’m going to learn how to use it, just you wait and see,” Tenten says with another determined nod. “I fancy myself a weapons mistress in training! It’s my strategy. See, the more I can use in a fight, the better my chances. How was your day, anyway? You don’t look so banged up.”

Sakura smiles thinly. She feels her lips crack at the motion. They sting. “Thanks. I didn’t need to go see a medic today either. You know, I think I’m getting better at this.”

Tenten’s eyes flash. She hovers her lips over Sakura’s ear and whispers, “Don’t let the commander hear that. You’ll be here fighting forever.”

“You think so?” Sakura asks worriedly.

“Who knows anymore what’s dangerous to say?” Tenten says quietly with a shrug. She pulls away from Sakura and looks suspiciously up at the adults in front of them. They look too busy with their own chatter to have noticed their exchange. 

The line picks up eventually. When it is Sakura and Tenten’s turn, they both offer the dinner-man bright smiles. It reminds Sakura of when mama told her to be nice to the dentist, because then he’ll give her a sweet. But the dinner-man is an angry, middle-aged man with shaking hands and yellow nails and no patience. He serves them a watered-down something. Because he shakes so bad, some of the soup spills from the ladle onto the dirt. Sakura’s smile slips the tiniest bit. 

“If you don’t like it, I can always give it to someone else who wants it,” the dinner-man snips at her. “Ungrateful brat.”

“I love it!” Sakura protests, ignoring Tenten’s snigger. “Thank you very much!”

They join Shino at campfire eleven. The Aburame has just about finished his dinner, and is sitting quietly across from a few older genin. They’re just another group of people who like to pretend they aren’t there. Kurenai-senpai is sitting with Shino too. She’s out of place with her chunin vest, but not at all unwelcome. They all greet each other warmly. Sakura and Tenten slurp the lukewarm, tasteless soup from the rim of the bowl. The bowls empty all too fast.

They all huddle as close to the fire as they dare. The evenings are getting so cold. It doesn’t help them in the least that after all the fighting, they’re too tired to run warming chakra through their systems. Sakura already dreads what the thick of winter might bring.

She listens idly as Tenten and Shino chat amongst each other. Shino is showing her a white clay spider he found, with a hollow underneath. He says it must’ve once contained an explosive. Kurenai-senpai had to clear it with a commander before he was allowed to take it back to camp. Shino looks very grateful. Tenten is complaining that her haul is nowhere as interesting as Shino’s today.

When Sakura notices an unfamiliar man walk up towards their camp, Tenten and Shino quiet and watch him too. He’s a young man with a navy bandana, picking his teeth with senbon like it’s not a specialised weapon. Sakura almost thinks it’s unhygienic, but she can’t exactly say so when the dirt under her nails is crusting over. Mama would be so horrified Sakura doesn’t wash her hands before eating anymore.

Kurenai-senpai inclines her head at the man. “Genma. When did you arrive?”

“Just a couple hours ago. I’m not staying long,” he says. Sakura sees Tenten’s head dance along to the movement of the senbon in his mouth. Genma continues, “Raido, Asuma and I are just playing envoy to the Hokage. Bringing news, intel, and the lot. You know how it is.”

“Where are you heading to next?” Kurenai-senpai asks.

“We’re off to Ame next, then Suna. Between me and you though, it’s classified,” Genma winks teasingly. “Since we’re doing the whole country-jumping business, I took it upon myself to deliver some letters from the village. The stacks were immense. I’m guessing you guys haven’t received mail in a while?”

“Not as often as before,” Kurenai-senpai admits.

Sakura perks up at the mention of letters. Kurenai-senpai told her once that all the vetting and censoring of letters means it takes a while before anyone receives anything at all. It’s the only reason Sakura has been so patient. She’s been writing Ino letters almost ever night, but she drops them in bunches at the messenger’s desk every week. Just so Ino has lots to read, so she doesn’t have to wait too long for her next bunch of letters. Sakura can’t wait to see what Ino has written her!

For the first time in the longest while, Sakura’s smile comes easily.

Kurenai-senpai and Genma start talking in tongues about the weather and nature. Sakura wonders at why Kurenai-senpai and her friends’ obsession with trees might be. There are mentions of dead leaves, branches and roots. It reminds her clearly of Kurenai-senpai’s strange conversation with Hayate so long ago. Only this time, Kurenai-senpai says that roots might be weaving too close to the seeds.

Hearing this, Genma glances ever so quickly to Sakura, Shino and Tenten. Sakura might’ve missed it if she hasn’t been watching him so intently. He raises eyebrow at Kurenai-senpai. The woman shoots him a warning look and shakes her head. Genma stops playing with his senbon for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

Understanding dawns on Sakura. She says, quietly enough that the older genin across the campfire shouldn’t be able to hear her, “… Are we the seeds, Kurenai-senpai?” She gestures between herself, Tenten and Shino.

Tenten tilts her head at that, considering. Her voice is low now too. “Then— then who are the roots supposed to be?”

Sat on her left, Sakura feels Shino stiffen unnaturally. 

Genma’s face turns completely blank. “Kurenai, who are these kids?”

Kurenai-senpai looks both surprised and not at all so. “Genma, these three are Sakura, Shino and Tenten. They’re my— they’re my kohai.”

“You’re all in the same team, are you?” Genma asks them.

“Not really,” Tenten answers. “We were at the village, but now Shino and senpai are at one division, and I’m in my own, and Sakura’s in her own too. But we share a tent with senpai. She says we’re still a team no matter what, so we need to look out for each other.”

“… Are we right, Genma-san and Kurenai-senpai?” Sakura asks timidly.

“You’re smart kids,” Genma says musingly. “You all look awfully young, though.”

“We are young, yes,” Shino speaks finally, his voice all too so soft. “But we’re here. Same as you.”

Genma’s eyebrows shoot up to touch the hem of his bandana. He turns to Kurenai-senpai. “Konoha’s really got you running a daycare? … I mean, no offence, kids.”

“Kakashi started out about the same age as them, and he’s a fine shinobi,” Kurenai-senpai says evenly. “And I’m under no obligation to be here. I’m here with them because I want to be. They’re good kids, Genma. All of them.”

Shino seems to tremble at that. And then, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed to, he relaxes slightly. Sakura slips her hand around his and gives it a gentle squeeze. Shino lifts his head slightly, facing Sakura. She offers him a kind smile.

Eventually, Kurenai-senpai and Genma move away from the campfire. In fact, they move away from most shinobi at the camp altogether. The two adults spend the rest of the evening speaking amongst themselves. Not a lot of people would come up to speak to them, but shinobi are very good at minding their own business or at least acting like they are. The ones that do come up to speak with them though are welcomed readily; there’s a purple-haired woman with a sword strapped to her back, a tanned man with a weal-like scar on the side of his face, a green-clad man with a severe bowl-cut, and even a curly-haired Uchiha. Their expressions are sombre, their hands deliberately at their sides so they don't communicate with them. They angle themselves too, so no one can see the movement of their lips.

Tenten turns to Shino, pouting. “Can’t your kikai go and listen in on them?”

Shino frowns. “I am not _that_ good yet, to be able to infiltrate a group of chunin and jonin without their knowing.”

Tenten scrunches her nose. “And just when things were about to get interesting.”

Sakura wishes she knew what the adults could be discussing too. This group of shinobi look over their shoulders and around themselves far too often for it to be a happy reunion of any sort. Whatever it is they have to say, it’s a secret they’re worried the wrong ears would hear. Sakura finds this raises more questions than she has answers for.

What is all their secret talk for, or is it just talk? Grownups are so good at that; big talk with big words, long speeches and promises that make people like Sakura sad and tired and hungry. Sakura worries a little.

–but she trusts Kurenai-senpai with her life. Kurenai-senpai has shown them nothing but kindness. Sakura hopes that these secret words Kurenai-senpai has for her friends mean something. She hopes it means anything.

She hopes.

\--

Kurenai-senpai returns to the tent later than usual, that night. Tenten and Sakura pause from their writing, Shino from his reading. Kurenai-senpai says, “I think we need to have a serious talk.”

They all shuffle closely together, so no one will miss anything she has to say. Sakura is ready to focus her hearing; Kurenai-senpai can speak so quietly sometimes, especially when she doesn’t want ‘dangerous people’ to listen. But when Kurenai-senpai opens her red-painted mouth, the words are nothing like Sakura expects: “We’ve agreed that there are certain things we shouldn’t say out loud. Genma and I were speaking in code. You shouldn’t pick out code in public.”

“But it was an obvious code,” Tenten points out, rolling her eyes.

“Perhaps to you, as you’ve heard it more than once. However, most shinobi that we come across would not have heard it before. In fact, to most, we would simply have been talking about the weather, or the trees and outside. Most wouldn’t have been the wiser,” Kurenai-senpai says sternly. “We’re incredibly lucky no one seems to have heard us so far, not even earlier when you picked at the code. But this can’t happen again.”

“We’re sorry, Kurenai-senpai,” Sakura says keenly. Shino and Tenten nod once in agreement. “We didn’t mean to cause any trouble. We just thought—” she trails off.

“We thought we knew what you were talking about,” Tenten finishes, turning her eyes away, shamefaced. “Nobody tells us anything important. We just thought we knew what was happening. We like to know things.”

Kurenai-senpai sighs deeply. Her smile is patient, but tired. “Alright, would you please tell me what you think you know? All of you?”

“We’re the seeds,” Sakura says again.

Tenten continues with a nod, “The roots are the bad guys. And all the fire too. The ones burning the leaves. Konoha is the village hidden in the leaves so the shinobi must be the leaves.”

“Perhaps,” Kurenai-senpai says, considering. “Now can you tell me, who the roots and the fire might be?”

Tenten falters at that. She says unsurely, “The bad guys— are the bad guys.”

Kurenai-senpai studies Tenten carefully. She says, her tone strange, “Sometimes, things aren’t so black and white, Tenten. Not everything can be said to be completely bad, or completely good.”

“I don’t understand,” Sakura says. “If we’re fighting Iwa, then we must be the good guys and Iwa must be the bad guys.”

“— but we’re also fighting Suna,” Tenten says.

Shino says, “And we’re fighting Kumo. And Ame.”

A lingering silence descends upon them at the implications of all this. 

Finally, after too long, Kurenai-senpai exhales slowly. She tries, “Alright. What do you three know about the war?”

“It’s the third one,” Sakura begins. “It started before we were born.”

“… Konoha has no allies,” Tenten continues, looking pale from her thoughts.

Shino traces the embossed lettering of his book. He says, “Maybe, the war will never end. People think that, sometimes.”

Kurenai-senpai smiles bitterly at Shino’s input. “Sometimes.”

Tenten straightens, frowning. “But— why do you need a code to talk about all this stuff, then? It’s not exactly secret.”

“Because the war will end one day. I am certain of it,” Kurenai-senpai says resolutely.

“When Konoha wins the war,” Shino says distantly, as if he is quoting someone else. His hand rises up to his throat.

Kurenai-senpai shakes her head. “There are no winners in war. A lot of us are tired of fighting. Not just us Konoha shinobi, but the ones from Iwa, or Suna, or Ame, or even Kumo too. Nobody wants to fight a war for the rest of their lives. Shinobi or not, we’re human first. We have homes to return to, families we miss. The war will end. It must.”

“Without a winner?” Tenten says doubtfully. “How?”

“I don’t think we should be saying things like this out loud,” Sakura says cautiously, her eyes darting to the entrance flap of the tent. Tenten huffs but says nothing more. Shino hunches inward. When he lowers his hand from his throat, it’s shaking again. 

Kurenai-senpai smiles hollowly. “So, you do understand.”

\--

Winter comes early. So close to Iwa, they are close to highland springs and hills and mountain ranges. With it come the bracing breezes. It whips hair across her face and she hates it. She can’t fight what she can’t see.

Sakura tries to practice the chakra exercises Suzume-sensei taught her, to keep her core warm. But it's difficult to maintain mid-battle. She can’t multitask so well yet. Not when running through slippery ice and sleet is a chakra exercise in itself. Sakura hates that she is so unprepared for the cold. 

When she loses concentration even ever so slightly, the chill that bites is sharper than any of her teeth.

There’s snow— or it might once have been. It sloshes under her sandals wetly, jabs at the sensitive skin between her toes. It’s grey slush and cold mud under too many shoeprints. It’s unforgiving frost and chattering teeth and ice settling in her extremities. Why did snow always look so pretty at home in the village? Sakura hates snow now.

One hundred and four sunsets have passed. The days are shorter. Technically, she would fall back with the rest of Melee Division Three hours after the sun has dipped into hiding. She pretends her return to the camp is ‘sunset’ anyway. It’s a stupid, pedantic thing that shouldn’t matter so much. But it helps. The thought of sunset reminds her of warm campfires and gruel, and later on in the evening, huddling closely in Kurenai-senpai’s tent for warmth and trading stories. It helps Sakura push through these winter days.

In the daylight, the falling snow can be near blinding. Sakura watches for when shinobi would lose their footing and slip. She’s quick to finish them off before they can even clutch at the ground to break their fall. 

She might be getting good at this, she thinks. This really is getting easy, she thinks.

Harsh wind blows there and then and her hair flushes over her face. Of course, this is when she’s too slow to move. A Konoha shinobi runs past her with a tanto ready. His gaze is dead set on an Iwa shinobi not too far away. The Konoha shinobi probably thought she’d get out of the way. Maybe, he never even saw her. 

But it hurt. Oh, but it _hurt_. Pain stabs dancing stars behind her eyelids. She staggers there for a moment. She’s surprised nobody has come to finish her off yet, but— but she’s only so little. Nobody looks for a child in the middle of battle. She wills herself to move. She doesn’t know how long it takes for her brain to connect to her body.

The rest is unclear.

She remembers bone peeking through slashed cloth and skin. Blood, drenching her front. She remembers feeling faint. Shaking. Losing grip of her kunai and stumbling across the battlefield. She’s clumsy. She remembers narrowly dodging, because she can’t afford to get hurt any more than she is already.

But her mind disconnects too soon. Walking turns into a task. Her legs stop listening. She starts to feel very, very cold.

She remembers sinking into a crawl. Shinobi are fighting around her and she’s kicked one time and her hand is stepped on in another. She can’t fight, and she can’t get enough out of the way. There really isn’t anywhere to hide— 

It’s no one’s responsibility to keep herself alive but her own.

Consciousness becomes slippery to hold. Like the melting ice, in the grooves of her sandals. Pain is telling her to ignore her brain screaming at her to _get up, get up, get up_. Pain is telling her to rest.

She remembers stumbling toward a cooling pile of bodies in green and navy. She remembers thinking _this is it _. She remembers blearily hoping she posted her last letter to Ino before today. It’s a happy letter. Ino would like it. She talks about the first snowflake she caught out here.__

____

Like the scribbling ink she uses to hide her words, black snuffs her thoughts and lulls her into a deep sleep. The last, drifting thought she has is that this is the most rest she’s had in so very long—

____

Sakura wakes up in the medic tent. There’s a drip in her arm. Her uniform is missing. Her hand, chest, collarbone, and shoulder are bound in bandages. The medic she’s seen most days now notices she’s awake. The medic forces pills down her throat, one by one by one. Distractedly, Sakura thinks she should really learn the medic’s name. It’s been months though. It’s probably too late to ask.

____

“I’m alive?” she rasps. Her throat is sore. “How—”

____

“There was a lot of blood loss,” the medic says, reading from her clipboard. “Mostly because the way you were lying encouraged a lot of blood loss. Not the smartest thing to do. Frankly, had you been left out there for another hour, you’d have bled out. Or died from cold. One of the two. Count yourself lucky the pickup team saw you breathing before they threw you in a Body Scroll.”

____

“Thank you,” Sakura says, struggling to sit up.

____

The medic watches her but makes no move to assist. She says, “You’ve been here a few hours. You will have missed dinner, so you’ll need to sort yourself there. Really, if you were more mature physically, this wouldn’t have injured you as much. Unfortunately, you are a child and there is only so much you can handle.”

____

“… oh.” 

“Since this is your first time requiring longer, extensive healing, your body was able to respond to medical chakra very well. It’s good news. I have to warn you though, while healing a scrape or two is fine, having your body too reliant on medical chakra to heal serious wounds... That can adversely affect your body’s natural healing abilities. Especially since you're only so young. You will need to be more careful,” the medic says.

Sakura’s mind reels slightly from all the information. She protests, “I didn't do it on purpose…" 

The medic hums, “It’s standard procedure out here, to tell a shinobi this after their first serious injury.”

An errant thought crosses her mind. Sakura peeks up at the medic through her eyelashes, shyly. “… Am I— Am I going to go home?”

“... Not quite. Should you need repeated, intensive healing for another injury so soon after today you just might be sent back to the village. ” The medic looks almost sorry again. She says, “However, I must caution you against deliberately trying to get hurt any more, just so you can go home. Some of the chancers I’ve seen aren’t so lucky to keep their lives.”

Sakura grimaces.

“You’ve been given some pills to replenish the blood that you’ve lost, and I’ve healed you personally. With some rest, you should be in a decent enough shape for your shift tomorrow.”

“… so soon?” Sakura asks, blinking in confusion. She tries shrugging her injured shoulder to test its mobility. It’s stiff, but not nearly as sore as she remembers.

____

The medic sighs tiredly at that. “Sadly, it’s not up to me how much rest you get.”

____

Sakura wonders at that.

____

Sakura gains a scar that runs across her collarbone to her chest. It’s an angry red now, but the medic says that one day it will fade into a cool silver. The medic says that had Sakura been able to get it healed almost immediately after it happened, it might not have scarred at all. Sakura laments at that but it can’t be helped. 

____

Kurenai-senpai helps Sakura stitch her uniform back up. When Sakura puts it on, she can almost pretend the scar doesn’t exist. Sakura knows that if mama or papa ever do see it, they would be so upset. But it’s in a secret enough place; nobody but her will ever have to see.

____

She tries not to see, anyway.

____

\--

____

They’re standing in line to collect their letters.

____

Shino chooses to queue along with them. He’s been queueing with them where he can, lately. The first few times, Sakura and Tenten told him he didn’t have to. They told him he could stand further ahead for the medic tent to be seen much sooner, or even have a much better meal at dinnertime. But he shook his head and said, “I would much rather stand with friends. I am sorry I have never done so until now.”

____

The way he disclosed that, it seems as though a large weight has lifted off his shoulders. Sakura marvels at that; his shoulders aren’t slouched today, his hands at his sides rather than his pockets. He speaks with them in his quiet way about how his dad said he’d write him a letter. To anyone else, he might seem his same old self. Sakura knows better: he’s excited.

____

Tenten stands, looking uncomfortable. She says, “Don’t mean to be a killjoy, but is it really so nice to get letters?”

____

Sakura gasps. “Has no one ever wrote you one?”

____

Tenten shrugs, her shoulders lingering high up at her ears for longer than necessary. When she forces herself to relax again, her ears are still tinged pink. “I mean, I don’t have family, remember? And any friends I had were at the orphanage, but they weren’t there anymore when I left. I don’t think they were the letter-writing type anyway.”

____

“I’m sorry,” Sakura says sincerely. “I know someone will write you letters one day.”

____

“It’s not a big deal,” Tenten insists, raising her hands placatingly. Her eyes still look a little sad. “I just wanted to know what all the fuss is about y’know. I don’t have anyone at home, so I don’t really have anyone I’d like to hear from. Don’t you get all worried thinking about whether they’re all okay?”

____

Sakura shakes her head. “I know Ino-chan’s okay. I just want to hear what she got up to, is all. She said she’d write me lots.”

____

“… She’s not wrote to you so far, though,” Tenten says, very, very awkwardly. She physically cringes when Sakura’s smile turns into an immediate frown.

____

“You don’t know that,” Sakura argues. “Maybe her letters just— got lost in the mail.”

____

Kurenai-senpai leaves the desk to wait aside for them. Tucked under her arm are scrolls, which Sakura recognises to be food scrolls, among other things. She has a whole stack of letters too, bound neatly together with a navy band. Sakura is glad Kurenai-senpai has such caring people to write to her so often. 

____

Not long after, Shino leaves the desk to wait by Kurenai-senpai. He’s got a food scroll too, and a singular letter decorated with a wax seal. The official Aburame crest. He tries to hide it, but Sakura can see a small, happy smile on his face.

____

The shinobi at the desk peers down at her with a raised brow. “You’ve not got any letters.”

____

Sakura’s heart crashes into her stomach. “Still? But it’s been months…” One hundred and eleven sunsets, to be exact.

____

“I don’t know what to tell you, kid,” the shinobi says. “No letters.”

____

Her eyes well up with unshed tears. Tenten clutches at her forearm consolingly. She looks awfully guilty too for what she said earlier, but it isn’t her fault. Sakura says, “There must be some mistake—”

____

The shinobi shakes his head dismissively. _“NEXT!”_

____

“Come on,” Tenten says quietly, pulling her toward the rest of their team.

____

“Ino said she’d write me lots,” Sakura says again. Her voice is cracking. “I sent her lots of letters. She must’ve gotten some by now. Why hasn’t she written back?”

____

Shino hides his own letter. He says to her, sounding contrite, “I’m sure there’s a reason behind all this.”

____

“Maybe— maybe she forgot about me,” Sakura says, brokenly. “I said I might not come home and now she probably thinks I’m dead or I’m going to die and she’s just not going to write.”

____

Kurenai-senpai places her hand on Sakura’s shoulder consolingly. “Now, that doesn’t sound like the Ino you told us about. From what I gather, she’s lovely and kind. She’s your best friend.”

____

“She is,” Sakura whispers, rubbing at her eye to rid herself of any tears before they could fall in public. Those just wouldn’t do. They’re against the Shinobi Code of Conduct.

____

“Then she’s not forgotten about you,” Tenten says firmly. “Shino’s right. There must be a reason.”

____

“Maybe she’s busy,” Sakura tries, but that doesn’t sound like Ino at all. As busy as the blonde ever got, Ino always made time for her. Sakura knows enough not to worry that Ino should ever be in a position that she couldn’t write; she’s clan heiress, protected by the safety of the Yamanaka clan, and the walls of the village too. Sakura wants to believe so badly that what her team is saying is true. 

____

She reminds herself of promises to frame flowers, of Ino’s gifts of bandages and medicine and food. Ino wouldn’t give these so freely. Ino really must believe Sakura would make it home alive. She wouldn’t waste resources like that. Ino hates seeing things go to waste. She always said there’s no meaning to a flower unless it blooms; that’s why she helped Sakura fight back Ami and her bully friends so long ago. That’s why she said Sakura should show her forehead proudly. That’s why she always asked if Sakura was okay.

____

But a horrible, vicious part of Sakura whispers that if there would be any reason at all that she hasn’t received letters from Ino, it must be because she never wrote. And Ino is from a shinobi family. She’s used to people dying. Why else would she have five funeral dresses? 

____

This ugly train of thought stops at images, all happy, all without Sakura: Ino working with her mother at the flower shop. Learning to count quicker at the till to help with customers. Talking to that boy she likes so much, that Sasuke-kun. Playing with Shikamaru and Choji. Growing her hair out into a long blonde ponytail like the one Ino’s dad wears. Forgetting all about Sakura. It would be so easy. Akame-senpai said kids like Sakura die in battle all the time. 

____

_But Ino wouldn’t do that,_ she tells herself.

____

A familiar voice whispers back, _Nobody thinks you're so important. They think you're cannon fodder._

____

“You’re right,” Sakura says out loud. She isn’t sure if she’s addressing Tenten or that internal voice she hears. “You’re right.”

____


	8. Interlude

\--  
\--  
“Now, hold still,” Hana says lowly. The scissors are sharp. She doesn’t want to end up hurting him.

The puppy blinks up at her and licks at her wrist. He’s enjoying the attention. His tail starts wagging so hard his bum shakes. 

“Akamaru!” she says sternly, but a smile is tugging at her lips despite herself. “Come on, Akamaru. You need a trim. Your fur’s near coverin’ your eyes! Don’t you want to look nice?” He yips. “Then hold still. Please? For me? Yes— good. There’s a good boy.”

He’s whining but he’s got his brave face on, standing as still as he dares. Doing as he is told. Akamaru really has come a long way. Kiba would be so proud of him.

At where her thoughts drift, she nearly stalls. Ichi nudges at her thigh to steer her back on the right course. She smiles at him gratefully. Ichi sits by her, watching the other two Haimaru brothers playfight to catch dust in the sunlight.

The curtains are drawn. The sun hits the snow and reflects it into the house so it’s bright. Akamaru’s fur is being snipped onto the kitchen floor. It’s not hygienic, but Hana doubts Ma would mind so much. Hana always tidies up after herself and Kiba—…

Hana is a tidy person. Organised, and smart. She has to be. If she shows her Academy sensei that she’s a quick study, maybe they’ll enrol her onto a healing programme. And then, maybe she can finally help in the war efforts. She’s asked more than once. They always say they’ll think about it. It’s not a no, but Hana knows what they’re thinking. She’s too important. She’s the heir. She wishes she could roll her eyes hard enough.

She thinks if they won’t let her fight, maybe they’ll let her heal. Maybe.

Ma said once it’s a nice idea, but it’s dangerous to have her hopes up so high.

“Don’t want you feeling too crushed if they tell you ‘no’,” Ma said.

“Maybe they won’t,” Hana protested then. “I can help people.”

“I know you can, pet,” Ma said. “But ol’ Third’s got a thing about coddlin’ heirs and lettin’ ‘em lie idle. I see why the Third does it. Don’t mean I like it, though. Else Tsunade Senju would still be here to help with the war.”

“The Senju clan is an honourable clan,” Hana said, protesting. “They fought for Konoha.”

“Yeah,” Ma said. “And after all that fightin’, there’s only one Senju left these days. Now, Tsunade’s a legend in her own right and all, but I know ol’ man Third’s thinking: “what if while she’s fightin’ out there, she gets killed?””

“Then… there’d be no more Senju in Konoha,” Hana said, sulking. “But it’s stupid to think that. There’s no more Senju in Konoha anyway. Tsunade Senju up and left ages ago.”

“Because he didn’t fight to keep her, pet,” Ma said. “That’s why ol’ Third’s fighting to keep you.”

“I wish,” Hana said in a hurried way, lest anyone might hear her, “I wish Hokage-sama would fight to keep Kiba too. He’s only little.”

Back then, Kiba was at the Academy. Hana hardly ever saw him, except for that single day he’d have off each week. Her little brother would still be up early, practicing, showing her jutsu that she wouldn’t be learning for years yet. Hana knows the curriculum like the back of her hand, and whatever Kiba was learning wasn’t it. She has years in the Academy yet. Kiba only had one month. At first, Hana was a little jealous. But then she saw how it affected him.

Kiba was always gone before the sun was up, and only came back home long after dinner had grown cold. He’d shovel it all down anyway, always too quickly, always too hungry. Once, he snapped at Hana for trying to heat dinner back up for him. She was only trying to help. He said not to bother. He was too tired to wait those few minutes. He just wanted to go to bed already. He was so tired. 

Hana hopes Kiba is okay.

Back then, at Hana’s mention of him, Ma pressed her lips together, eyes dark with burden. She looked out the window, gaze flitting to the trees like she worried someone was there, like she worried someone might be listening. The moment was so quick Hana almost thought she might have imagined it. But then Ma said:

“I’ll be fighting to get Kiba back. And when we get him back, we’ll keep him and we’ll keep him safe. You hear?”

Hana nodded, jaw set. “Yes, Ma.”

“Now listen, when he goes, we won’t see him for a while yet,” Ma said quietly, but with steel in her tone. “But I’m workin’ on it, pet. A good bunch of us are. Not just us mums, but the dads too, and hell, shinobi with no kids that are just plain fed up. Now, you don’t know any of this. You say nothin’ to no one, alright?”

“I won’t, Ma.”

Ma ruffled Hana’s hair then, loosening it from her ponytail. Ma said, voice gentler now, “We’ll not be talkin’ about this anymore. It’s too dangerous. Just know I’m tryin’ to look out for both of you best as I can. In the meantime, pet, it’d be smart to play nice with people. It’s a pain but you can’t stand out for the wrong reasons. You got to blend in until it’s the right time. And I’ll tell you when that is, but it ain’t now… You need to understand they won’t let you help shinobi ‘cus you’re an heir. I agree with you it’s stupid. But it is what it is. Maybe they might let you help animals. Kami-sama knows they don’t get any help either. Most of the vets have been made to help with the war, these days. They’re that desperate.”

“Not desperate enough to let an heir help,” Hana said, gritting her teeth.

Ma sighed so heavily her shoulders rose and fell along with her. Ma tried smiling anyway, her hands perched encouragingly on Hana’s shoulders. “I know it’s not what you really want. But bein’ a vet, you’ll still be helpin’ those who need it. I think you’ll be great at it. Promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Ma—”

“Promise me?”

“… yes, ma.”

And Hana has. 

Grudgingly, at first. But she has.

At first, Hana thought of vaccinating puppies and kittens and compared it to when Kiba came home from the Academy with a broken jaw one time and how she didn’t know what to do. Hana thought of delivering fawns in the Nara forest and compared it to the long, long line of patients waiting to be seen, leaking out of the doors to the Konoha General Hospital.

At first, Hana didn’t think they compared in the least. It was no contest then, which was more important to her. No comparison, where healing would make the most difference. Hana would lie in bed at night glaring at the ceiling because she thought the Hokage was wrong. There can be no such thing as being too important to care or help where it mattered. Hana always thought animals more or less knew how to fend for themselves anyway. Vets only helped them along. People on the other hand…

It seems to Hana, people hurt each other all the time. People hurt each other like it doesn’t hurt at all.

But then, months ago, Hana trudged through the snow to visit the aviary. She stood at the desk, having her letter to Ma screened by a stern-faced chunin. There were more birds than she anticipated, burrowing together in cold looking nooks. Hana always thought, messenger birds or no, that most would fly south for winter. Just goes to show what she knew, then.

Curious, Hana peered a little closer, and then she saw. The birds were too skinny. A good number were injured in one way or another. One had an eye missing. The socket where its eye was looked swollen and so angry it must hurt. Some had their feathers plucked or ruffled. None looked happy to see her. They looked scared, almost. 

Hana never saw the aviary like this before. She always thought Konoha looked after the birds here. Cared for them. 

She said as much to the chunin. The man looked up and shrugged. 

“These birds have gone through a lot lately, kid. The war’s getting worse. These birds fly through battle-zones and danger-zones on roads. People hunt them for a bunch of reasons. Could be for the letters they carry with them, could be for their meat. It’s rough for them.”

“The birds are pretty important not to be looked after,” Hana argued then. “Doesn’t a vet come and check over them?” 

“Most of the vets contracted to us got redistributed to help in the hospitals or medical division,” the chunin said, echoing mum’s words. The chunin sounded a bit surprised Hana would even ask. “There’s about one or two vets left in the village and they’re pretty swamped as it is. Lots of other animals— and I’m talking nin-animals, pets and summons all the like— they’re getting hurt and hunted more and more lately now that meat’s getting scarce. The vets come here when they can of course, but it’s a lot less regularly than we would like these days.”

“That’s awful,” Hana said, jaw slackening. 

A messenger bird flew in from a window then, unsteadily. It landed in a graceless heap on the ground, amongst feathers, bird droppings and stale feed. It hopped back on one foot shakily, his other leg folded in an awkward angle. This bird was skinny too.

“His leg is broken,” Hana said to the chunin at the post.

“Kid, stop trying to make me feel crap about it,” the chunin finally said, bored but irritated with the conversation. “There’s not much I can do.”

Before she can stop herself, Hana said, “I’ll help them. I’ll figure out how. I will.”

Since then, Hana paid closer attention. She listened as Izuno complained about how her mum had to put their cat down because it got too badly hurt, and the vet couldn’t see them soon enough. She listened as Nara grit his teeth and said that yet another one of their deer got hurt by another person who snuck into the forest. It was such an expanse of wood and greenery compared to the few Nara they had left in the village. The rest were off fighting the war. Nara said his family was tending to the deer as best as they could, but they were no healer. 

People get hurt, but animals do too. They have all along, and Hana just never really took notice. Never bothered to. And at that realisation, Hana felt ashamed and enlightened all at once.

Maybe there aren’t enough healers for the shinobi, and maybe Hana wouldn’t be allowed help them. But maybe, she could help the animals. They need care too. Hana is determined to do good and help in any way she can. 

She just needs to prove herself.

She’s a quick study. She’ll show her Academy sensei, all of them. And then maybe on vocation day, they’ll let her shadow the vets. Maybe, they’ll be so impressed with her they’ll teach her everything she needs to learn so she can begin to make a difference. 

Heir status or no, Hana can help. She will. She better.

Akamaru licks at her face. It seems Hana did drift into her thoughts after all.

“Sorry, little buddy,” she says to him. “I’m almost finished, I promise.”

Akamaru sits and blinks up at her, making a short, hesitant, high-pitched noise.

“I miss him too,” she says to him, brushing his snowy fur gently. “But he’ll come back. He’d never leave you by yourself for too long, little buddy.”

Except it has been too long, already. It’s been four months. Ma comes back every three weeks. Why hasn’t Kiba come home yet? 

The more rational part of Hana’s thoughts knows Kiba is alive. If he wasn’t, there’d have been someone at the door by now. 

It’d be one of the Hokage’s masked ANBU, delivering a practiced “we’re sorry” that Hana thinks doesn’t weigh very much in the grand scheme of things. They would hand a letter folded in fancy stock paper. They’d say it’s the dead shinobi’s unclaimed salary, and a little bit extra for their death in service. Hana has seen it all happen before, peering shamelessly from her living room window at the neighbours across her street. 

They lost their son. He was twelve. 

His mum and dad said they didn’t want the stupid letter. They wanted their son. They said as much, but the ANBU had already left by then.

Kiba is alive. She’s sent him care packages and bandages and even the stuffed panda bear he said he outgrew ages ago, but kept on his bed anyway. She’s sent him news clippings and a picture of Akamaru. She’s written him more letters than she can count. For whatever reason, he just hasn’t written back. Except for that one time, after the first time she wrote him.

The paper he wrote on is crinkled in that way where it was once wet, but dried too quicky. There’s gashes in it where he pressed his pen too hard. Ink is smudged here and there, but mostly she can make out the words. Hana keeps it tacked against the fridge and reads its contents day by day:

_Hana-nee and Ma and Akamaru and evryone,  
The vilage in Hedden Rain is wet. Can’t smell much. So I gess I don smell bad meybe.  
Its cold outsyde. My tent is warm. Tank you for the food. I don like rations.  
Keep safe, famly. Be good for Hana-nee, Akamaru. I will c you later.  
\- Kiba._

His handwriting is as awful as his spelling, but it’s Kiba through and through. 

Hana misses him so much.

\--  
\--

“What’s this green stuff?” he asks, poking at his plate suspiciously. “Looks like a pod.”

“They’re Edamame,” Mother says with a patient smile. “Try it. You might like it.”

“Looks weird,” he says, scowling. “Like, really weird. Do I have to?”

“Sasuke,” Father says firmly. “Your mother worked hard on dinner today. You will finish your food.”

Sasuke huffs, sinking low into his seat. “Yes, father.”

He watches mother slide green, shiny beans out of the pod and plop them in her mouth. Sasuke follows suit with some hesitance. He hates beans. Why did mother get beans? When it was just mother and Sasuke, mother never forced him to eat things he didn’t want to eat. Sasuke would’ve been happy to try and eat any other vegetable. Like a tomato. It’s a fruit, though, mother says, but Sasuke thinks it should count as a vegetable because mother puts it in things in place of other vegetables for dinner sometimes. 

He didn’t get any tomatoes for dinner today, though. Sasuke thinks it probably has to do with father being home today. Mother always likes doing something different for dinner when father comes home. Mother says she thinks it makes dinner special. Father hasn’t been home for weeks and he deserves a special dinner.

Sasuke thinks Father must be enjoying dinner, because he’s eating like he’s starving. Father eats quickly and goes for seconds. Mother looks a bit worried, but won’t say anything yet. She chews slowly and her eyes never leave Father. Sasuke is watching him too, because he doesn’t see him often enough. Father looks tired. He sits straight-backed, chin high as always, but Sasuke can tell he’s tired from how the grooves in his face seem to have deepened. It makes Father look like he’s scowling all the time. Sasuke doesn’t like it. As no-nonsense and serious his father is, he’s not an angry kind of man.

“How have you been, Sasuke?” Father asks, once dinner is cleared from the table.

“I’ve been okay,” Sasuke says, shrugging. “I got tomato seeds from the Yamanaka flower shop. Mother showed me how to plant them in a pot. I water it sometimes. One of my plants has got a new leaf! I can show you if mother says it’s okay.”

“That’s wonderful,” Father says with a hint of a smile. Mother returns from the kitchen with a steaming pot of tea. “What else have you been up to?”

“Mother sometimes takes us to go visit Aunt Kushina and Naruto,” Sasuke says. “They never visit here, though. Naruto says it’s because his house is better. But how does he know, because he’s never been to our house! I think our house is better anyway. You probably wouldn’t like him coming over though, because Naruto is really messy. His room’s got toys all over the floor! I’d hate for my room to be messy. Naruto leaves stuff everywhere! Even the living room! I don’t know how Aunt Kushina can stand it. ”

Mother frowns at him. “That’s not nice, Sasuke.”

“Well, it’s true!” Sasuke says, pouting. “You always say to pick up after myself and I do, and I don’t see why Naruto can’t. Or maybe won’t. I don’t know, he’s messy. Anyway, I think it secretly bothers you too, mother, or you wouldn’t take me and Naruto out to the playground so often so we’re away from Naruto’s mess! Mother would never say so though!”

“Fresh air is good for you,” Mother says lightly, but with a hint of warning. “And Naruto is a nice boy. Why shouldn’t I take you both outside to play?”

“See,” Sasuke says to Father, rolling his eyes. “Mother won’t admit it. She hates the mess!”

Father smirks around his steaming cup of tea. He says, “It’s good to hear our boy and Kushina’s are getting along.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I would say that,” Mother says with a laugh. “One moment they’re both building sandcastles together, the next they’re rubbing dirt in each other’s hair.”

“It’s not my fault he’s annoying,” Sasuke huffs, crossing his arms.

“Sasuke spent hours trying to scrub the dirt off!” Mother says, an exasperated yet fond smile spreading across her face. She reaches for his hair and Sasuke pretends to battle against her hand. The fight is over quickly. Mother continues, tugging at his ear. “And somehow he still missed a spot behind his ear.”

“I did not,” Sasuke sniffs. Mother’s hand is smoothing his hair down. Or trying to. Sasuke knows how riotous his hair can be. It feels nice, though. Mother’s a good mother. Sasuke loves her a lot. “Anyway. As I was saying!”

“As you were saying,” Father echoes amusedly.

“Me and Naruto—”

“Naruto and I,” Mother corrects, still smiling.

Sasuke rolls his eyes again playfully. “Naruto and I. Naruto and I usually always have the playground all to ourselves. And not just that playground but even at some of the other ones we go to! How neat is that! Itachi-nii used to always say to take turns with the other kids on the swings or on the slide, but it’s always just me and Naruto these days.” Sasuke stops, brow furrowing. “Naruto and I. There’s not a lot of other kids at the playground anymore. I think it’s great. Means we don’t have to worry about sharing so much.”

It takes a second for Sasuke to realise that suddenly his father isn’t smiling anymore. 

Mother still is, but there’s a strange look in her eyes that doesn’t match her smile. Sasuke looks between them and thinks maybe they just miss Itachi. He misses Itachi too. He hasn’t seen his big brother for almost five months now. That’s a long time. He always tries not to think about it, or he'll just get sad. Itachi-nii is off being a hero. Sasuke can't be sad about that.

But the look in Mother’s eyes aren’t wistful, as they often are when she thinks of her eldest son. Father’s face isn’t sad either. He’s set his cup down and he’s clenching his jaw. The deep creases are back on his face again, and Sasuke doesn’t like it. It makes his father look older than what he really is. Whatever it was that Sasuke said, it isn’t only to do with missing Itachi. 

Mother’s hand leaves his hair. She sits back down, and the smile leaves her face and a frown takes its place. Father pours her a cup of green tea wordlessly.

After too long a moment of silence, Sasuke breaks it earnestly, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said that made you not happy, but I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Sasuke,” Mother says with a sigh. “It’s alright.”

“What did I say?” he tries. “I’ll not say it again if it makes you feel sad. But I have to know what it is I said first.” 

“It’s not what you said, Sasuke,” Father explains. “It upsets us that there aren’t more children out to play.”

Sasuke frowns. “But—” he stops. He tries again. “But you’re not sad. You’re angry.”

Father is quiet for a second too long. And then he says, with a deep, tired sigh that echoes Mother's, “So we are. We are angry.”

“Not at you, Sasuke,” his Mother says hastily, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. Her eyes are pleading for him to understand. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Okay,” Sasuke says readily, nodding. His brow is furrowed. “Then whose fault is it?”

Father leans back into the chair like the energy is drained out of him. He closes his eyes and rubs at his temple. “It’s been a long day, Sasuke. And the story you’re asking for is a very long story.”

“But—”

His father’s smile is tired, but his words are firm and final:

“Sorry, Sasuke. Maybe next time.”

\--  
\--

Inoichi pushes his hair out of his face. The frigid winter wind whips past him, bringing more rain with it. His hair falls over his eyes again. He sighs. 

“Cutting your hair is an option, you know,” a familiar voice muses. 

Inoichi sends a half-hearted glare to Minato Namikaze. “I am not that desperate.”

“Oh yeah,” Minato says, throwing his head back in a hearty laugh. “Seeing your opponent in battle is totally optional, anyway.”

“Of all the countries I’ve been posted to,” Inoichi says mildly, “Only Rain has given me grief. In the form of rain.” 

At least he’s done fighting for today. He could really use a steaming cup of tea. Or two, or three.

“Very melodramatic,” Minato says, his eyes still bright with mirth. “Rain’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Inoichi looks at him, side-along. Minato has been posted in Ame for as long as Inoichi can remember. He says, “How long till I’m used to the rain?”

“Couldn’t say. I’m still getting used to it,” Minato says unhelpfully. “I can only imagine it’s not so bad. Or else why would anyone choose to live here? Or stay here?”

Inoichi agrees with Minato. From what he’s seen of the country, The Village in Hidden Rain used to be an industrial kind of fortress. Where stubborn buildings have yet to fall to ruin are metal turrets and pipes that spiral up buildings and down into the underground. There are naked mechanicals on buildings and factories too, with exposed giant cogs and gears, but only few still tick-tock away to power dams and bridges. The rest have missing or broken parts from disuse or battle. The concrete roads are coloured with fading paint. Inoichi knows they would’ve looked fluorescent under the bright neon lights Ame once favoured. Now though, they’re cracked and cratered, along with most of their country. Decades of war has devastated the land Ame, but not its people.

The people of Ame are stubborn and headstrong. Else, why would they keep fighting against an entire world while they fight themselves?

Konoha’s base is set up in the western part of the city, its citizens long since evacuated due to past raids from Iwa and Suna. The base isn’t as secure as Konoha would like, however. In Ame, everywhere is a battleground. Konoha can only do so much with barricades and sentries to fortify the base. Inoichi has been in Ame for almost two weeks. If the cold doesn’t rattle him from sleep at night, the sounds of Iwa’s Explosion Corps certainly do. They detonate their bombs anywhere. Keeping constant vigilance is an exercise in its own right.

“I imagine Ame was once a sight to behold,” Minato says quietly. “It’s a shame what the wars have done.”

“It’s destroyed a lot more than Ame,” Inoichi returns evenly. “You’ve not been back in Konoha for months. For a village hidden in the leaves, there aren’t many trees left.”

Minato breathes deeply, a frown settling on his face. “Kushina tells me the skies aren’t ever blue anymore. It’s a shame. It’s all grey and smoke here. I’ve been looking forward to seeing blue skies once they let me go back home. I’ve been looking forward to a lot of things.”

Inoichi says, “It’ll all come back. The trees, the leaves. The forest will grow back, better than before. I have faith.”

“We’ll need to weed out the old roots first,” Minato says back, very carefully. “Nothing good will grow otherwise.”

Inoichi smiles surreptitiously. Out loud he says, “I’ve not been able to write you for updates. Lots of eyes on the post lately.”

“I had a suspicion. You’ll not be the only one that’s been affected, anyway,” Minato says, grimacing. “We’ve been able to trickle some information to our guys in the village, Iwa and Suna, but it’s always weeks out of date. But our guys in Kumo are completely cut off from us. It’s not ideal. Actually, it’s shit. We’ll need to figure out a new way of communicating. We’ve got plans to action, and quickly. Before the window of opportunity closes. Our guys in the other bases need to know what they’re going to be in for.”

Inoichi nods. “I think I have an idea to send information to our guys in the other bases. It’d be days out of date, maybe a week tops. But I say that’s a lot better than weeks. What do you think?”

“The slight delay can’t be helped,” Minato agrees. “Whatever you’re thinking, I’m all for it.”

“Great,” Inoichi says. “When are you wanting to do this?”

Minato says, “Is three days enough time to organise comms?”

“We’ll make it,” Inoichi says, nodding again.

Minato smiles back. “Alright. We’ll negotiate the ceasefire in three days.”

“I hope this works.”

“I believe it. I have to.”

\--  
\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise for my long hiatus. So much has happened in the past year. I hope you've enjoyed this interlude. I know a few of you have been requesting different POVs for this fic. I caved lol.


End file.
